TINY IMPERFECT NON-FICTION 25

I love direct sales companies. (Some are pyramid-y, some are not.) They have an allure for me that was programmed during childhood, when I ingested magical phrases from television infomercials such as “order now” and “only available by mail order.” Things that were not available at a physical store were exclusive and definitely conceptually better. Fast forward to every decade of my adult life- I’ve checked out all the direct sales companies with the same excitement of that 11 year old that ordered the knitting machine straight off of the tv.

About 10 years ago, I revisited my Tupperware fantasy that was seeded by the coveted Tupperware lunchbox I got in sixth grade.

So, in top-priority fashion, I reached out to Tupperware and was contacted by a rep with orange-alert-level eagerness. I was told to meet at an address in Van Nuys at 8pm, where I would be welcomed into the Tupperware family. The address turned out to be a storage container and I was mysteriously handed one of those ribbed, bendy plastic straws. On folded plastic chairs, under fluorescent lights, a woman named Frank stood to take her first place sales award. Frank was an impressively tall lesbian with a cowboy hat and walking stick, and had locked down the entire West Hollywood Tupperware market. She commanded everyone present to raise their straws and blow! if they were excited about Tupperware. I raised mine reluctantly to make the saddest, most embarrassing phfizzling tooooooooooooot. That is all you need to know.