Someone else's personal experience:
The marketing group had a single client: Camel cigarettes. They’d approach various bars and ask them if they were interested in being paid to become “Camel bars.” Camel ads hung in bathrooms, pint glasses were placed upon Camel coasters, phone numbers were written down on Camel bar napkins. If you asked the bartender for a match you’d get a book stamped with Joe Camel’s phallic mug. And the final privilege the Camel money bought was the right to send its people into the bar each night to hand out free packs of Camel cigarettes to smokers.
This was my new job. For every pack of cigarettes I handed out I got one dollar. Even the slowest workers were able to rustle up or outright lie their way to fifteen packs per hour, which made the job a guaranteed $15 an hour. And those lucrative hours were perfect—hit the bars around eight and stay as long or as little as you like. I told my boyfriend to sign me up. I had never been paid so much. The bookstore paid $9.50 and it had taken me five years of employment to get it up from $7.50.
At the Union Square office I was given cartons of Camel cigarettes—menthols, lights, wides, and the various flavored sorts that come in tin boxes and have a phony art-deco aesthetic. In order to prove to the authorities that the smokers I gave freebies to were old enough to smoke (and to cull information for future marketing schemes), I was to digitally photograph the driver’s license of everyone who received my smoky gifts. The mammoth cameras were outdated and confusing to operate; they malfunctioned frequently, costing workers hours of pay since without the photos we had no proof we’d worked. I was given a big black bag to haul it all around in.
Also, this news article:
http://pittsburghlive.com/x/tribune-.../s_367632.html