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Well, “almost” is a bit of an exaggeration. But I did go to a meeting! Backstory:

A few weeks ago, I stopped by Wal-Mart to pick up a box of Sunbelt Oats & Honey Chewy Granola Bars. These are easily my favorite brand and flavor of granola bars, and unfortunately, I’ve only ever been able to find them at Wal-Mart. So going there was imperative.

But I digress. I was in the breakfast aisle, actually in a bit of a rush to go wait in line for eternity, when I was accosted by a decidedly South Indian fellow. I don’t know why he identified me as someone worth talking to; I was dressed in business casual attire that day, so maybe he thought I was likely to be a Valley professional.

I’m also not entirely sure why I stopped to talk to him, nor do I remember exactly how the conversation went, except that we somehow managed to exchange brief professional histories, not to mention phone numbers, in a matter of a few minutes. He told me that he was working with some friends on a business venture; not one to pass up an opportunity to hear about a random startup, I gave him my contact information, with the expectation that he’d try unsuccessfully to recruit me, and at least I’d know what he’s up to.

Fast-forward two weeks. I woke up on a Saturday morning to the sound of my cell phone and looked groggily at the display: “[name] from Wal-Mart.” Naturally, I just went back to sleep, but I did call back later that afternoon. The scoop? He and his associates were holding a “business exposure session” the next day at a hotel in San Jose. He hoped I’d want to get involved in his business; they were only asking for a few hours a week to start out. He also wanted to introduce me to all his friends there, who were naturally also from Chennai. And of course, there would be an executive from a Fortune 50 company (which he declined to name) giving a fantastic talk about “the trends in the industry.” Oddly, he never mentioned what industry…he only mentioned that this was a limited-invitation engagement, and that he needed me to keep my commitment to attend.

Curiosity got the better of me, and anyway, I honestly had no clue what was coming. The next afternoon, I threw on my Sunday best and made the drive to the Wyndham. My “friend” greeted me eagerly and complimented me on my attire (yes, really). We approached the conference room where the “business exposure session” would be held, and the nagging feeling I’d had through this entire experience crystallized into a single “aw, geez” moment as I read the sign in front of the door: “E-commerce Business Seminar.”

I laughed out loud — indeed, I still can’t believe I was so easily duped. I could (and probably should) have bailed at that very moment, but being there, I just couldn’t help myself. How exactly was this going to go down?

My — what, sponsor? host? — introduced me to a fellow Stanford alum who was very eager to have me there. Every last person in the room was South Asian. Soon enough, we were seated, and the show began.

What impressed me most was how polished the pitch was. I have no doubt in my mind that fully half of the audience were plants; accomplices who were there to laugh just a little too hard at his jokes, to nod in all the right places, to shout out loud in the eerily evangelical call-and-response employed by the presenter (who was, of course, Indian himself). He pressed all the right buttons for this group: “you moved to this country to build a better life for your family, but are you really making all the money you deserve?” “You want money, right? It’s okay to say that. How many of you want a new car? A new house? To pay for your children’s education? People who say they don’t care about money are lying.” “Making money through jobs, toiling day in and day out, is the old-fashioned way of doing things. We all moved here knowing only that; but I’m here to tell you today that there is a better way.”

On the whole, the atmosphere was…more than a little cultish. I texted my dad a nice quote (“If you listen for the next forty-five minutes, your financial future will completely change!”), and his response was, “May be time to get out.” A good thirty minutes passed without his actually saying a single thing about how this “business” would work. I kept wondering, after such a gripping setup, where was the payoff?

Finally I started hearing the words I had been expecting: Franchising. Duplication. Independent Business Owner (IBO). It was astonishing how simple he made it sound. With the modern revolution of technology, e-commerce, and the Internet, it was impossible not to get rich!

That’s actually when I finally left. Got up from the second row (where I’d been strategically placed) and walked out. The last words I heard as I left were “Quixtar.com“; it’s a brand owned by Amway, which is basically the biggest pyramid scheme in history (with the possible exception of the Church of Scientology). I got a call soon afterwards but didn’t return it, and haven’t heard anything since.

I suppose I don’t regret this whole episode, although I certainly think I should have been a bit less clueless, and part of me wishes fervently that I’d rushed up to the stage, grabbed the mic, and told all the poor saps in the room to get out while they still could.

One thing is clear: when they say Wal-Mart is full of unsavory characters, they really aren’t kidding.