Okay, there's been alot said about the pros and cons (mostly the latter) about Cydcor. I find it hilarious that people are comparing it to a cult, because in the six days I worked there in San Francisco, that thought never even crossed my mind. But now I can't beleive I never noticed every single person in the office, from the receptionist (JUICE!) to the Managers (Goals? GOALS!) to the flock of employees (juiced by that?) using the same goddamn catch phrases.
I mean, I was still technically a trainee when I quit (having logged nine days worth of work in six days, with my leader hounding me to show up on Saturday), but I never understood why, when they asked me what went right that day, "Me and Timmy had a great time!" didn't work as well as "Me and Timmy built relationships." I don't get that. If you wanted me to answet that %@! ^ing answer, why didn't you ask me "Did you and Timmy build relationships today?" Maybe there were life lessons to be learned here - teamwork, how to teach, how to build people skills, have fun wherever it is you are, whatever it is you're going, how to set goals, attainable or not.
But the singular most important life lesson here: Do not work for Cydcor. They have a reputation now, do your research - ask your company about to interview you if they are a subsidiary of these bastards.
Realistically, however, that is one of the more inconsequential problems I had with these bastards. Yes, it's a problem they want you all to act and talk the same. But what makes them so seductive is the promises of money (my manager showed me his weekly pay stub - it was for four and a half grand) in such a short time. They literally give you - on your second day on the job -a piece of paper delineating the employee growth. For nine to twelve months you're in the field, after which you get promoted to assistant manager for four to six months after which you're "handed the keys to your own office" holding brown sacks with dollar signs on the front.
Maybe it does work out like that. I doubt my ex-manager was showing me a fake pay stub. But the fact remains that of the sales people, very few possess the charisma they are looking for to be store managers. I didn't stick around long enough to find out if this stuff actually happened, but the fact of the matter is, not everyone there is management material. But you don't know that, and while they probably do, it doesn't matter - because you're out there busting your hump to earn earn earn to get that promotion. Meanwhile, they're pocketing 80% or something of your earnings and sitting in their office all day.
It's hard work. And granted, nothing spectacular is going to come out of anything less - but the scam is here, and the scam is that what they promise is unfeasible for ninety percent of people. I should have known something was amiss when, upon hiring me, the first thing I had to sign was a waiver of my labor rights and weekly hourly limitations. I should have known something was wrong when they didn't reimburse for gas, at least 40 miles worth a day - and they pressured you mightily to show up on Saturdays.
This is your life, people - do you really want to spend literally 60-70 hours a week doing this? It's not worth it, considering that even if you are management material, they will string you along long enough to make you quit before you get there. I don't buy their promises, nor do I believe this is a healthy workplace. The people OI worked with, the ones there for only 6 weeks or so, they had bought the dogma hook, line, and sinker. Every person that took me out said the same things to me - "I'm retiring in eight years." "I'm never going to fill out another job application the rest of my life."
It's bogus, and if you can go and observe from an objective standpoint, you might be frightened to see the similarities to a cult.
One more fun little tidbit -months after quitting, I found a job listing for West Coast Ad EFX and promptly arranged an interview. The ad said something along the lines of "Must be a music lover." I packed my bags and resumes and wore my best suit, and soon found myself in the waiting room of yet another ghetto-ass tiny office. As I waited, an employee came out of a room behind the secretary. I peered in, only to see - horror of horrors - the dreaded Cydcor selling sign - rehash, eye contact, always be closing, the Quill catalogs, everything, everything, everything!!! They were all in there, and my idiocy had brought me back.
The ludicrously large-breasted receptionist got off the phone. "Do you have your resume?" she asked, sounding as though the phone had been surreptitiously feeding her helium out of its bottom end. "Uh yeah..." I replied, feigning an interested search into my bag, "but it looks like I left it in the car."
Needless to say, I went to the car, but I sped off, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
Eric
danville, California
U.S.A.
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