Chiropractors are quacks

Chiropractors are not doctors.

They focus on marketing, not treatment.

One thing I liked about my old job (and there were few such things indeed) is that it put me in touch with all kinds of people. I would go to different events and peddle my wares. Sometimes I would sit in a nice hotel and let people come to me. On any given day, my "office" might have been trafficked by a meeting for women in business, a wine festival, an auto show, a group of engineers, Park Ave businesspeople with thousand-dollar shoes, or the hordes at Port Authority -- it changed all the time, and change is generally good to me.

[Below is a story of (not) selling to a group of chiropractors. First written a lifetime ago, it's still a fun read.]

Generally, I like people but have resolved that I officially do not like chiropractors and will avoid them like the plague. Last night they put me through hell. As a scene in a movie, it would have been hilarious. As a total and complete waste of a considerable amount of time, it bordered on torture.

Don't get me wrong: I went into it with a good attitude and open mind. Sure, I had seen a chiropractor 15 years ago and found his "treatment" utterly pointless and completely ineffective. Sure, he struck me as a snake-oil salesman and didn't do shit for my back while charging me a lot of money. But I was over it. I was willing to write him off as a bad apple in a noble profession of healers... until last night, when I realized that chiropractors are nothing short of charlatans, the snake-oil salespeople of the modern age.

Let me explain.

First of all, they promise you the world and deliver a heap of garbage. My company spent, I'm sure, a pretty penny to sponsor their meeting and speaker, ostensibly with the quid pro quo that we would be able to pitch the chiropractors and do a little business. The organizer of the event, "Dr." Cootchie (sp? - I shit you not.) greeted me with a big smile, told me the schedule, and actually gave me an opportunity to introduce myself in front of the group. My little speech in front of the group went well enough, and I fully expected to be able to engage some people in conversations after the festivities and close some deals. That did not happen. "Dr." Cootchie was full of shit, like the rest of them.

As it turned out, I was not able to pitch anyone because they crammed me into a little corner at the side of the stage, and the keynote speaker rambled on and on about nothing until 11:00. (I was supposed to have been out of there by 10:30.)

The keynote speaker... oh. my. god. Hollywood could not concoct a better con-artist. I had actually looked forward to the presentation. I thought he would take out diagrams of the spine or discuss the latest advancements in chiropractorism (or whatever they call it) or say something remotely valuable. Here is what happened:

8:00 -- "Dr." Cootchie gets things started by introducing everyone and giving sponsors a chance to say a few words.
8:15 -- "Dr." Sid Something-or-other, an old guy with a Wal-Mart tie, enters the room to chants of "Sid! Sid! Sid! Sid!," works it like a pro, pressing a little flesh, saying how pleased he is to be there, shuffling his notes to create a bit of tension. The guy was a rock star in the chiropractor world. He speaks with a down-home Southern accent which initially appeals to me.

He begins in earnest, voice booming.

"Dr." Sid: Plan yer work!
Crowd: Plan your work!
Sid: And work yer plan!
Crowd: And work your plan!
Me (thinking): OK, affirmations to warm them up. I'm down.

Sid continues like that, spewing cliches to the enthusiastic delight of the assembled quacks for about 15 minutes, and it puzzles me, "OK, so when does the speech start?" Except that was the speech! THAT was the speech!!! Two hours of hackneyed phrases we've all heard a million times, every line parroted by the "doctors" of chiropractic.

~8:35

Sid: Always be closing!
Quacks: Always be closing!
Sid: Assume the sale!
Quacks: Assume the sale!
Sid: Louder!
Quacks: Louder!
Sid: Assume the sale!
Quacks: (more loudly) Assume the sale!
Me (thinking): I'd love to! When do I get to talk to you people? What the fuck does this have to do with healing people, anyway?

I began to imagine a group of orthopedic surgeons doing the same thing. That kept a smile on my face for the next 45 minutes or so.

~9:20

Sid: Long days!
Quacks: Long days!
Sid: Sleepless nights!
Quacks: Sleepless nights!
Me (thinking): Wait... I'm confused... is this supposed to be a good thing?
Sid: A day off!
Quacks: A day off!
Sid: Is usually followed by an off day!
Quacks: Is usually followed by an off day!
Me (thinking): Work all the time... sounds really healthy... uh, guys, I'm selling leisure, here... thanks a lot...

Now my smile remains because I'm realizing what a bunch of suckers these people are -- sales resistance should be incredibly low in this group. Visions of big money dance in my head, though Sid's whole, "Work all the time!" thing isn't working for me at. all. I'm tired. At this hour, with the trains running infrequently, I'll be lucky to make it home by midnight, assuming we get out of here by 10:30. Surely this old snake-oil huckster can't keep this up much longer. Surely I'll be pitchin' soon and will be able to close a few deals, sending chiropractors to sunny beach resorts.

~10:00
Sid: You cain't steer!
Quacks: You can't steer!
Sid: Somethin' that ain't movin'!
Quacks: Somethin' that ain't movin'!
Me (thinking): Calm stillness is vastly underrated in our culture, and would you STFU already.

At this point I'm about ready to strangle the old bastard, to strangle the lot of them, but I keep smiling, hoping against hope. At around 10:15, a few people leave, much to Sid's indignation. At around 10:50, more people stream out, and Sid stops abruptly, to wild applause.

I am determined to close at least one deal, but my little table is about five feet away from Sid the charismatic tent show preacher/chiropractor. Those who remain throng him, their backs to me. I pitch a couple people who happen to be uncomfortably smashed up against me. I learn that we had also sponsored their convention recently and that a number of these people had recently bought packages from our star salesperson who was given that plum assignment. (God, these sheeple would have been easy to sell under semi-normal circumstances!) The pond had been fished out. I packed up my shit and stomped out onto York Avenue, releasing a primal scream into the chilly air that I'm sure could be heard across the river.

An hour later, I make it back to base, the hotel, where there had been a convention of oncologists that day. Real doctors, people who play golf on Wednesday and take vacations. I'm tempted to peek in the envelope and see how much business we wrote with this group but don't because I am far too tired and still have to make it back to Queens, which I do at about 2:00. I collapse into bed, cursing chiropractors even in my dreams.

That chiropractors call each other "doctor" is an affront; doctors are learned people who devote their lives to rigorous scholarship, the advancement of knowledge, and the improvement of the human condition. On my long journey home from hell, I started thinking about all the people I have known over the years who received chiropractic treatment: Not one of them was ever cured, all suffer from chronic, persistent, and worsening back problems. One of my best friends will need back surgery (the kind that real doctors perform) that would have been minor if he hadn't wasted 15 years swearing by his chiropractor as his condition worsened. If anyone was ever cured by a chiropractor, I am quite sure that it was due to their condition being minor plus the placebo effect.

And let me just set the record straight: I have received all kinds of alternative treatments that were effective. An Ayurvedic doctor in Sri Lanka completely cured a chronic condition in three days that my American doctor had not been able to handle. Acupuncture definitely works. But these practices have been developed over thousands of years, unlike chiropractic which has only been around for a buck and change.

Last night -- fruitless, long, and annoying in the extreme -- made me realize that I need a new job. In a roundabout way, chiropractic might just be the catalyst that springs me out of the professional rut. Ironic.