Schemes active/complete: 29
Money made: £15.78
Quite a bit to catch up on since scavenging for hair last week like an insecurely bald Stig of the Dump. Popped to Cherbourg for the day last Friday to stock up on booze and confuse waitresses with my GCSE French, putting down 18,000 steps whilst there which would have been greatly lucrative (Scheme #117) if the Bounts app hadn’t recently dissolved into sheer uselessness (this in direct contrast to the sum total of 49 hungover plods I managed on the day after my Birthday). I also learned there that Receipthog (Scheme #71) is a Francophobe, and that all my “je voudrais un receipt gracias” requests were in vain:
To be fair it’s not much easier uploading receipts on home soil, look at the dismal state of this proof of purchase from my latest Wetherspoon’s transaction. My Receipthog can’t eat that!
My trip across the Channel was only slightly marred by an overpowering taste of garlic omnipresent for much of the day thanks to Scheme #125. I’d been dared by Patrick on Double Dog to eat a garlic clove for $1, which I stomached late Thursday night:
Have you ever done this? I imagined a clove to taste super-garlicky, like the entire Pizza Express menu condensed into a pill; I didn’t realize it would feel like eating actual fire, and leave a garlic presence pervasive enough to withstand mouthfuls of toothpaste and an entire pack of chewing gum. Rowena was still recoiling from me hours later, with yells of “the smell’s getting worse, it’s festering!”
I can already anticipate that I won’t be recommending Double Dog, and by dint of this any dare-for-dollars platform as a money-making method UNLESS you are a young and liberated female human, as there are no shortage of desperate guys out there who will tender a buck or two for a girl to wink at the camera or blow a kiss or other such examples of beta prostitution. Some ladies are astute enough to cheat on the dare as well, being asked to show their breasts and instead filming a pack of refrigerated chicken fillets or simply holding up a piece of paper with “breasts!” written on and high-tailing it with the blue-balled bloke’s money, and then what’s he going to do about it, take them to the small claims court?? Somebody paid sassy9864 to “take it all off” and she just showed her bellybutton:
It seems that when the app’s not objectifying women it’s making me eat banana peel and I’m still in the process of recovering my losses on the thing so I’ll be grateful when I can edge into the profit zone, cash out and be done with this scheme, I dread to think what else I’ll have to masticate between now and then though.
My total income has increased by a whole penny since last posting, via a scheme which avid readers of this blog can probably already guess – trusty Scheme #61: Look down when you walk. Wasn’t even walking when this spare penny caught my eye, rather it was snatched from a puddle of warm beer on a Wetherspoon’s table. I did actually espy another penny on the floor near my desk at work but earlier in the day my wallet had burst in my hands cascading coinage all around me so I couldn’t be confident I wasn’t just smugly pocketing my own cack-handed change.
I shouldn’t complain about Scheme #61 as although it’s pathetic to constantly snivel around for the dropped earnings of others it’s one of the precious few methods which has actually got me some capital, there are plenty of schemes I’m pumping effort into for absolutely zero return. I’m still, for example, routinely proffering names for burgeoning brands and companies with Squadhelp for Scheme #120, and it’s getting pretty dispiriting as the business owner rates each submission they receive either ‘Love it :D’, ‘Like it :)’, ‘On right track :/’ or ‘No thank you :(‘, and every single one of my ideas has been ranked ‘No thank you :(‘, the lowest possible score, even “Saddle Dazzle” as the potential name for a bicycle shop which I was so confident about I didn’t dare mention on this blog before now because I didn’t want any copyright or privacy issues when it was definitely chosen.
My £20’s worth of yen is yet to spike and make me a rich man either (Scheme #164), although it did peak on Valentine’s Day for some reason, which obviously I missed as I was busy stuffing my fat face with Domino’s pizza.
An amusing little money-maker I’ve discovered which I won’t be pursuing as I’ve tepidly self-limited myself to only legal schemes, but would be a perfect option for those skint of both money and ethics, is Twitter page @NeedADebitCard. This tweeter is dedicated to reposting the photos of anyone dense enough to post a photo of their debit or credit card to social media, along with inane comments like “new design of ma creddy on point <3” or “only i be dope enuf to have security code 420 #blazeit”. I’m not going to bring Scheme #235: Rob Twitter morons into life but I did think it would be remiss of me not to give this newfound piece of information a mention.
Back to schemes I actually am occupied with, last time I mentioned Scheme #77: Become a taskrabbit I was being informed that I was fortunate enough to have reached the orientation stage but unfortunate enough that there were no orientation courses anywhere near me. I’ve been cold on the TaskRabbit premise ever since I realized that practically every task is required in Central London, and I thought a lack of nearby orientations would be the final nail in the coffin, so I was surprised to receive an email from Melanie keen to induct me on a virtual orientation as opposed to trekking to the capital and enduring it in a stuffy meeting room. Despite living closer to Camber Sands than Camden TaskRabbit seemed bizarrely eager to have me on board.
The virtual orientation took the form of 18 videos followed by some multiple choice questions. I still cannot believe it’s possible to stretch such a simple idea over 18 videos: people post tasks they don’t want to do, others choose to do them for money – there that’s the gist of it in 18 fucking syllables. To be honest I didn’t pay much attention as the test admitted from the offset that any questions answered wrong you’d simply have to redo at the end of the assignment, so the only info I can recall is that it was all narrated by a chipper American cunt named James who said things were “cool” and “awesome” when they were not, in fact, cool or awesome. Here’s a screenshot for flavour:
I am so, so glad I could endure this initiation in my pajamas at home and didn’t have to have this patronizingly explained to me by some moronic, grinning instructor with a PowerPoint presentation in a London office. One of the questions was ‘If you break an item during a Task, should you first tell a) the client, b) the TaskRabbit helpline or c) your Mom?’ and I could already envision some unfunny pleb on the training course aggravatingly barking with laughter at the weak attempt at humour that (c) provided and the instructor smiling with pride. What a bullet to dodge.
My TaskRabbit orientation is now complete and my profile should be live from tomorrow – I now have the app on my phone ready to be summoned a hundred-something miles North to help someone change their duvet cover at the drop of a hat. This app was forced upon me as a mandate of the orientation course; “your phone will probably tell you not to trust this app,” James blithely chuckled, “but you can go ahead, it’s cool.”
There’s another active scheme which it turns out isn’t as trustworthy as previously thought, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that this is a common factor of money making schemes sourced from unreferenced lists on the Internet. I signed up last week with CPM which pays £10 for each photo you send them of a vehicle somewhere it shouldn’t be (Scheme #233: Snitch on cars parked illegally), a brand new app only very recently publicized. Originally I thought they would accept photos of cars parked in any old illegal space, but it transpires they must be in a car-park owned by yourself, which is why I came home from work the other day to find I’d been sent these massive warning signs to put up in the car-park I apparently own:
The closest I have to my own car-park is the splash of tarmac outside my flat where residents will occasionally ditch their cars for an hour or two, and even then I can’t say I possess it outright as I’m only renting this little one-bed alcove anyway, so I was uneasy about this whole business. What really turned me off this car-park narc scheme though was an email I received today, quite unexpectedly, from a journalist at The Sun!
“It has been alleged that your email address was included on a list sent out by UK Parking today,” it began. “If my source is accurate, the slip up exposes people who have signed up to use its parking app and get £10 every time they shop another motorist.” Those ditzy UK Car Park Management muggins had leaked my email address to the tabloids!! In true Sun scaremongering fashion the email went on to ask “How do you feel about having your details leaked in this way? People really don’t like traffic wardens. Does this make you feel unsafe in any way?” Naturally this has made me even less keen to erect the signs I probably have no authority setting up anyway so I will be using blabbermouth CPM’s signs as laptrays to eat my dinner off for the foreseeable.
Lastly to something I’ve actually fulfilled and the titular scheme for this post, Scheme #23: Become a music reviewer. I finally reached the $10 minimum payout on review site Slicethepie, predominantly thanks to stumbling across a rich vein of dog beds I could review at 9 cents a time.
I still have to wait until next Friday before the money should land into my PayPal so I’m loathe to review this scheme fully right now just in case those wages never arrive, but I’ve seen enough to state that I probably wouldn’t recommend Slicethepie. It’s certainly the best way to earn revenue from writing quick music reviews online, its rival sites don’t even get a look in, and I have to say it’s less soul-destroying than generating cash from Weegy (Scheme #31), but regardless it feels like a chore especially if you’re not a big fan of bad music, artisan dog beds or tacky Xmas jumpers.
At 125 reviews I was paid on average 8 cents per submission, so 6 pence a pop. The music reviews insist you sit through 90 seconds of each song but the fashion ones can be churned out at a rate of one a minute if you excel at regurgitating a hundred unique words about homogeneous tat, hence it’s possible to earn £3.60 per hour Slicing the Pie, UK minimum wage when it was first introduced in 1999. Despite this I won’t be continuing with the scheme, it was pure discipline that had me sat up until late last night glugging rum and whacking out review after review after review – one low point saw me critiquing 20 Justin Bieber decalled T-shirts in a row. It’s the best scheme I can confirm to work thus far but also the second worst, better than being milked for mini-essays on environmental change but still pretty shit.