Inside the parallel universe that is the Tupperware party.

Sometimes, for kicks, I go around to a friend’s house where a thinly veiled invitation to a “party” has been issued.

These parties usually involve passive aggressive women trying to flog overpriced plastic kitchen ware to me. And yet, despite the fact that I fully understand exactly what it is I’m about to get myself into, I say yes. I blame the Happy Chopper.

I always feel like a bit of an outsider at these kind of things. Often it’s a good friend who has been talked into hosting the party, so I have that whole “obligation” thing going on. I always make a silent pact with myself that I will buy the cheapest thing on the menu, stay for a drink and then get out of there.

But, like any good red blooded woman, the pressure and the hype usually get to me and I buy something I really don’t need.

As was displayed on Friday night. Not only am I victim of peer pressure, clearly I am also a gambler because I bought a Mystery Box for $25, guaranteed to be full of stuff worth at least $75. Now that I have some clarity, I predict a lot of melon ballers and unidentifiable items I’ll have to Google in order to understand how to use. Why didn’t I just go with the ice cube trays as per my original plan?

Oh, that’s right, because they were 30 fricken dollars each.

My very first experience with a multi-level marketing party was when I was about eight. All I remember was that I was super excited about seeing my cousins. I distinctly remember Mum on the telephone saying to my Aunty “This isn’t Amway is it?” I could hear my Aunty screeching down the line “Nooooo, of course not Betty, just an exciting new opportunity.

Gullible mum. So, so gullible.

Anyway, we got to their house and I nicked off to play with my cousins’ Barbie Townhouse, which I coveted, and left mum to it. About 10 minutes in, just when I had Barbie and Ken chowing down on their delicious dinner, mum came in and practically dragged me out of the house. Above my protests, were my Auntie’s: “Betty – just give it a chance, it’s so easy, it’s SUCH an opportunity!” I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother so angry.

Oh, except for the time she caught my brother lighting matches near the mango tree. Whole other story.

I do believe that there is a certain type of person who gets into the multi-level-marketing gig and then goes on to make it their career. I mean, it doesn’t come without being a very social being. In fact, there was a report done recently declaring Tupperware to be the very first social network, highlighting the importance of the parties themselves. Claiming that, in the 1950s, it was one of the only avenues for married or pregnant woman, who were not normally allowed to work, to earn some money.

But that was then and this is now.

And look, don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to a few of these parties where “Enjo” was actually just code for ‘piss up’, but not this one. For starters, it was pretty obvious that I wasn’t taking the whole night seriously enough when my joke about beetroot containers fell flat and met with scathing looks.

Two attendees in particular were like the pre-ordained Ministers of Tupperware that kept requesting for the group to “be quiet” so the vendor could make her outrageous claims about some clear plastic container. Unfortunately, it appeared that most of us already had all the plastic crap we could handle and were obviously just there for the free organic coconut bread and Tim Tams.

At one stage, my friend who was hosting the party showed all the women her incredibly organised, yet Tupperware-less, cupboards. One of the Tupperware alumni piped up with, “Now, imagine how much better your cupboard would look if you had all of that in Modular Mates.” Standing off to the side, I piped up with, “Yeah but that would mean she’d have to marry a Packer.”

Crickets. I got nothing. They had a mole in their midst, in more ways than one.

And what about the games they play at these parties? We played a very “fun” game I like to call ‘Indian Giver’.

It works like this: We all were required to put our names into a bowl twice, and then the host picked out a whole heap of random shit she couldn’t offload to unsuspecting morons sell, and then put them on a “prize table”. If your name was called out, you were allowed to pick a prize. The next person whose name got called out, could either take something off the prize table, or, alternatively, take the item that you just chose, and away from you. And so it went on, until all the names had been called out twice and the items had been stolen from one another.

So, aim of the game? Be called last.

Anyhoo, one lady, who was a neighbour of the host, had to leave half way through the game as her child was whinging. At this stage she had a certain container in her possession. By the end of the game, it was gone. She came back to the party about an hour later and was absolutely livid. “So what happened when my second name got called out? How did you make a decision on my behalf on what I would have wanted?”

Um. Fuck. Off. It’s a game. Of Tupperware.

And all I could think when playing was, thank god they don’t play this game with a bunch of toddlers. Imagine the apocalyptic styled meltdowns those kids would have?

Oh wait, at least two-year-olds are meant to be immature.

So I stayed for the obligatory hour or so and then, to the din of school cupcake decorating discussions and debates over baby monitors, I slunk off home. A little poorer. In more ways than one.

Look, there is no taking away from the fact that at times, this has been a great way for women to come together and meet new people. But like any multi-level marketing business, it’s only the people at the top of the chain that actually make any money from it.

I understand the enduring quality of these products but there is something about the way it is passive aggressively forced upon me that has never sat quite right. Surely, in this new world of social media, we can sing the praises and explain, for instance, how the ‘Happy Chopper’ will change your life (OMFG, it will) without having to endure these pressure filled ‘nights out with the girls’.

What has been your experience with Tupperware parties, or similar direct marketing parties?