This is my second response to all of these allegations against Success Express. All of you who are wary of this company should be.
I see many rebuttals from "Washington." I wouldn't be surprised if this is the same Washington I knew when I worked for William "Bill" Gillespie's company.
Washington was a top seller. I got the impression he was Gillespie's right-hand man. Looks like that's still the case.
I see that Washington's rebuttals are all carefully worded, as you might expect from a snake. Don't buy his "truth." The upper management hides behind the kids. They say they're upholding the law, and in some cases that may be true. So they put pressure on the kids by letting their true desires trickle down. Kids learn what is expected of them through hushed whispers. That way, it's the kids who take the blame.
Washington implies that no kids are allowed to enter communities that state: "no soliciters." Then why is it that we were often dropped off at these communities?
One of my trainers, while we were at a house waiting for the residents to answer the door, actually ripped the "no soliciting sign" off the door.
When the woman came to the door and pointed to the sign, it was gone.
My trainer acted like he didn't know what she was talking about.
"What sign?"
This didn't help us sell magazines, but it did show my trainer's desperation.
I'm sure Mr. Washington will tell you that this is not allowed. But the kids are under such pressure to sell magazines, they will resort to extreme tactics.
Let me guess. Mr. Washington will say, "I can't be held accountable for the bad seeds."
Yeah, I remember Washington. Here's one of his tactics:
I must have been with the group for a week. For the first time, I'd had a good day selling magazines. He rewarded me. He got up in front of the assembly of kids and said how great I was. Then he handed me five dollars out of his pocket -- his money -- to reward me.
Well, the next day, I didn't do so well. Washington got up in front of the group and berated me. Say (paraphrased), "Man, I gave you five dollars of my own money. This is how you repay me?" I guess the five bucks he'd given me wasn't a reward for doing well on the previous day. By accepting it, I was promising him I'd never have another bad day.
Over time, I began to feel that I was working for scam artists. Or cultists.
There was one bad day in particular when I'd accidentally moved into another kid's territory. She FREAKED out on me. Complained. Yelled. Called me nasty names. SCREAMED.
Later that night, Washington had a little talk with me. I told him it was an accident. I apologized and promised it would never happen again.
He replied, "You're a game player aren't you? Yeah, I can tell. You're a game player. I can read people. Like right now . . . you're about to cry, aren't you?"
I was about to cry. I was hundreds of miles from home, working for criminals.
The funny thing is I bet Mr. Washington doesn't remember this incident, specifically. Probably because he's played the same GAMES with other sales kids. I'm guessing he's done it so much, I could be anyone out of hundreds.
Think back, Washington. This was about twenty years ago.
In all fairness, it's possible you're not the same Washington I knew. Maybe that was some other Washington. Are you the same Washington who liked to tell us how great you were, despite your heritage? "Look at me. I'm black. I have all the cards stacked against me. But I still sell magazines."
Ghosts of the past, Washington. You and Gillespie will pay for your crimes.