BIG FUR GOALS

Mrs. Claus’ Pyramid Scheme Fiasco

Unbeleafable depreciation

Mrs. Claus dreamed of running a pyramid scheme. It was her big hairy audacious goal — or furry herbaceous. It’d been her aspiration to build a scheme since grade school when she successfully convinced Timmy to buy her lunch on the bus each morning, who then resold it slowly to the back of the bus.

Mrs. Claus’ cut of each transaction enabled her to buy shares of IBM stock at an early age and a book about Charles Ponzi. Her dream grew.

Some folks want wealth, fame, and clout. Mrs. Claus wanted to leverage the underutilized influence of her husband’s logistics department. Those reindeer were more than a renowned fleet. They were her untapped fur pyramid.

If she could develop the beasts, then yes, she’d have wealth and whatnot, but first, she’d need to tell a little lie — a semi-truth if you will.

Persuasion

“Rudolph,” she said to the animal’s rear as he was bent over munching his morning salad, “You are a salesperson at heart.”

He looked up from his meal. It was ole “Mrs. Claws” — a name coined by the elves because of her suspiciously long nail extensions. They worried she might be a bear.

“What do you mean, Mrs. Claus?”

“I heard about your persuasion tactic with Dasher and Prancer. Nice work. Now they defecate in the compost bin. This Spring it’s going to be verdant around here. I wanted to thank you personally for that.”

Rudolph blushed. He secretly had a crush on Mrs. Claus, but since she had no interest in barn management, he never saw her around, so, oh well.

“Thanks, Mrs. C. All I did was ask them how they’d feel if their pet project was being shat upon — or not being shat upon, as was the case. This inspired change.”

This did not inspire change. In fact, when Mrs. Claus had her legal team confront Dasher and Prancer with an ultimatum to use the compost bin or else, that inspired change. And now Mrs. Claus was inspired to loop Rudolph into her new pyramid scheme.

Possibility

“Rudolph, you have a real talent for influencing others. Have you ever thought about developing that strength?”

This was the first time anyone noticed Rudolph was more than a glorified delivery dude with an ingrown headlamp. He yearned to be part of an organization where he’d pull levers instead of toys. Just like that, with zippo doubts, he joined Mrs. Claus’ Wellness Greens as Level One Salesdeer.

His job was to encourage his fellow reindeer to come on as Level One Sales. This would bump him to Level Two. He got hyper-mega-pumped, setting his nose on fire.

Mrs. Claus’ Wellness Greens was a high-end edible greens home delivery subscription service. For an unscrupulous amount of money, every Monday, straight to your door would arrive the most scrumptiously nutritious greens of every kind imaginable. They were sourced fresh from global growers, and you only had to pay big bucks to open your door and possess more phytonutrients than you knew existed.

You had to bring in more sellers too. Rabbits, goats, people.

Some greens eaters had obscene disposable incomes, so it looked like a win. The reindeer stood to win big, while Mrs. Claus stood to feel the winds of success blow all over her enterprising face.

If this was a likely scenario, wouldn’t it be a beautiful dream?

Too bad in the central concept there was an inherent snag.

Probability

The reindeer were a focal point in Mrs. Claus’ shady business model. The idea was to leverage their popularity to grow an interdependent sales funnel.

Except there was a tricky little problem.

Deer love greens.

Each week, after the salesdeer received their product from the growers, they took it to the back of the barn and ate it until their salesbellies were satiated — when the inventory was gone.

In a panicked rush to reinvent product from nothing — as there is no agriculture in the North Pole, thus the need for a compost bin — they came up with a creative solution. Green wrapping paper — as plentiful at the Claus compound as snow. It looked like salad, and it went down the windpipe as expected — like softened gravel.

The inventory hack worked fine until a hungover Blitzen threw red wrapping paper covered in candy canes into the delivery boxes by accident. Within days the jig was up. Calls started flooding in. In a week, news outlets featured the debacle on their front pages. Mrs. Claus’ dream was fodder for the most vociferous of social media titans, and soon governmental regulatory agencies were slapping her with subpoenas.

Disaster

In a last-ditch effort to gain back public support, Mrs. Claus was interviewed alongside Sam Bankman-Fried, her new scandal pal, to announce how woefully unprepared she was for business. She felt it went well — relatable and sympathetic — but this did nothing for the fact that Santa now couldn’t ever retire.

Those lofty exponential sales numbers Mrs. Claus dreamed of were legal fees instead. Further, to counter this PR disaster, Santa would need to deliver gifts that were double-fabulous this year. Read: big cash salad.

There’s always the good with the bad, the positive with the negative. For the children of the world who relied on Mrs. C’s famous husband, this was a boon. The holiday gifts under the tree would be extra-gifty this year. Better still, the holiday dinner wouldn’t have one spec of green in it.

And maybe there was a chance to reinvent. Maybe reds could replace greens — Mrs. Claus’ Wellness Reds. Do deer like red wine? Who’s to know? A tipsy pyramid isn’t a bad business model.

Many thanks to Amy Sea for editing this. Did you know she runs a scheme called Amy’s Wellness Swims? You pay her cash and she’ll swim for you.

To place your order for Steph’s Wellness Greens, join Medium first. It’s a fresh mix.