The Last Day in Hell (a.k.a Kansas City): Part 1

At 51 sales on the summer, my last day knocking doors in Kansas City needed to be amazing. I had initially wanted to hit 55 sales as a personal goal, but I was so burnt out on knocking on doors and being demoralized I was almost ready to settle. Steve (our boss and driver) dropped me off on the street I had started working the night before, and I started knocking. The first home had no answer, and as I walked through the humid Kansas City air towards the second home, I felt like dying.

Before my fist could connect with the oak, the door swung open to a 30-something black woman in a towel. “You look hot and I saw you coming!” She stated in a Kansas City-esk accent. “Why don’t you come in for a bit?” I looked down the street at the plethora of houses just waiting to reject me and I decided to oblige her.

It was a typical Kansas City house…a couch, a few chairs, an enormous big screen television that you have to wonder how someone on welfare can afford…the usual setup. As she motioned towards a chair for me to sit in, she laid on the couch and began asking me about how my day had been and what I was selling. This was also typical of Kansas City—there may be three shooting deaths a day in that town, but people sure were pleasant. I informed her of the alarm company I represented, the heat, the fact it was my last day, and she decided to celebrate. I got a little worried she might strike up the marijuana joint resting on one of her end tables, but instead she picked up the phone and made a call to her landlord.
“I got a friend over here and we need some ice cream and Sobé,” she proclaimed into the phone. “Hurry up, he’s got a job to do.”

Bewildered at the interesting choice of celebratory food, I quizzed her on her relationship with her landlord. He and her had been dating on and off for quite some time, but I got the feeling she took advantage of him to do things like bring her ice cream at 11:30 AM on a Thursday.

We spoke more about the alarm I was selling and she informed me she would love to have one, but couldn’t pay the $99 deposit our company requires. Still in sales mode, I informed her if that was the only problem, I could take care of it, and she decided to buy. I began to think the day might start looking up, but this was no ordinary sale. The law requires that any improvements made on a home be done by the owner, and with the owners consent, and this 30-something black woman in a towel was not the owner…her friend brining us ice cream, however, was.

It took three more phone calls and 45 minuets for the landlord to show up, but sure enough, when he got there he had ice cream, drinks, frozen candy bars, everything you could want on a cold day. Lucky for me, I was also going to get a sale. After fifteen minutes of convincing, I got a signature on the contract from him, which was all I needed. “I really don’t want this alarm thing in here, but I guess I don’t have a choice.” Those were the words we loved to hear…having someone buy something from you that they really don’t want was the mark of an excellent salesman. He exited the cool house back into the humid Kansas City heat, and I worked on finishing my ice cream bar, when suddenly the 30-something black woman in a towel hit me with something else.

“I don’t have any way to pay for this alarm, you know.” I had the ice cream bar half-way down my throat when she mentioned this tidbit and I nearly coughed it back up, but I managed to choke it down and ask for a clarification by what she meant. “I don’t have a credit card or checking account or anything. I just pay cash for this place.” I looked at my now useless contract, bemoaning the fact that I just spent two and a half hours waiting on ice cream in the hopes of a sale. I went to tear the contract in half and leave when she put me in quite the pickle. “I have his credit card though…” she stated. I looked at my contract, looked at the black, 30-something woman in a towel, and then at my watch. It was nearly 2 PM, I only had 7 hours left, and if I wanted to show anything for this day, I had to act.

I sat silent for a few seconds, staring at the signature on the dotted line of the contract, and noticed the small print underneath which read “The signee hereby declares intent to pay all charges associated…” upon seeing those little words I didn't need to read anymore. I had explained how much it cost and he signed the papers, so at this point it was out of my hands. I took the ‘borrowed’ credit card and finalized the sale, feeling justified in my actions. As the installation technician entered the house, the black 30-something woman in a towel thanked me for getting her an alarm system, and I knocked on the next door, which would be my next sale of the day.

More on my last day in Kansas City later.

The McDonalds Dumps

As mentioned in another post, I was never a big fan of asking to use people’s bathroom. Food and water, no big deal. Even asking if I had to go #1 wasn’t that bad. But if #2 was necessary, I always found a gas station or a fast food place.

Almost every day was in a new area, I would check my map to see what was around me. Today, I was smack dap in the middle of a big, residential neighborhood when I felt the urge. I looked over my map one more time. Nothing but houses for seven or eight blocks. I called Steve and explained the situation. He laughed and said that I was the fourth person to call him about that and joked that I should just use a customer’s sink. Also, he couldn’t give me a ride. He was in a house trying to close for Taylor and was about a half hour away. “Call me back if you come down this way,” I told Steve, even though I knew it wouldn’t happen.

I hung up with Steve. I felt some pressure and held it in until it rolled over. I looked at my map again for the closest area that would have public bathrooms. I found a spot where the freeway cut through the neighborhood about a half mile away. “There has got to be a gas station somewhere around there,” I thought as I started my hike.

As I walked all my energy was focused on holding my bowels in. I knew if I didn’t I’d have a pretty embarrassing accident and no one is going to buy ANYTHING from a guy who crapped his pants. I got within a block of where I thought a public bathroom would be and there was nothing. Just an overpass with no on or off ramp. I was getting a little worried.

I looked around and saw a yard sale just a few houses down. I made some small chat and then asked, “Do you know where a gas station or a McDonalds or something like that is around here? The closer the better.” I was hoping they would think I was hungry the way I worded the question.

I was directed down another street all the while praying that I would be able to hold this billowing burden in my gut long enough to make it to the toilet. At last I saw the golden arches of McDonalds. I raced into the bathroom and locked the door to the only stall just in time to burst. Sweet relief.

As I was doing my business I heard three or four guys run into the bathroom. Having had a few run-ins with gangs in Kansas City, I was a bit worried. Then I heard one of them say, “Firstline! Hahahaha!”

“How did they know I was with Firstline?” I thought. Then I saw my sales binder with the Firstline logo on top of the baby changing station in the stall just in view from the other side of the stall door.

“Chet? That you?” one of them said. I recognized the voice now. It was Peter from the office. The always up-beat, super motivated, black guy.

“Yeah, I’m almost done.” I said.

“Hurry up, there’s four of us and we need to go BAD,” he responded.

I finished my business and made my way out to the seating area. Peter quickly took my place in the stall and I sat down to talk with the other guys. They filed back one at a time, and all looked pretty panicked that they might not be able to hold it long enough to make it.

None of us were sure what was wrong with all of us. Luke, the other boss, had picked up three guys to drive them to the bathroom; Steve had gotten several calls he couldn’t respond to; and a bunch of others found places to relieve themselves. With three quarters of the office crapping their guts out, the only thing we could think of was maybe it was some bad food at one of our office potlucks.

I already had the rule not to eat unpackaged food from customers (see “Kenny and the Spiked Potato), now I also had to worry about office party food.

Go to the zoo...

Door-to-door sales were pretty taxing, as you well know by now. We would knock for 10 hours a day, 6 days a week, and only have Sundays off to kick back and recoup for the next week. One day after Chet and I went to church, we decided we would use our time of to do some sight-seeing in Kansas City. We asked around about some interesting places to visit, and of all the places to go, the Kansas City Zoo sounded the most interesting.

Thirty minutes of driving found us at the zoo entrance, still in our shirts and ties from church, as we walked around the outside of the zoo, discussing what exhibits we might look at first. As we approached the ticket booth, we noticed the prices of the zoo were astronomical: 10 bucks a person. While this sounds like very little money now, $10 while you are living by $100 commissions is pretty steep. Naturally, we didn’t want to pay the steep charge, but we really wanted to get inside and flip off the monkeys (watch Anchorman). We scanned the area, not sure what to do, when we noticed the IMAX theater which linked to the zoo.

I led the charge as we walked past the main ticket booth towards the IMAX entrance, where a 60 year-old woman was tearing tickets and a velvet rope in a V shape herded zoo-goers towards her. We walked up to the first rope of the V on the right side and casually unhooked, walked through, and re-hooked the rope back in place. As I did so, I looked at the woman taking tickets, nodded to her, and she smiled and waved back as we waltzed into the zoo. We continued to talk about sales from the previous week, so as not to seem suspiciously giddy about our indiscretion, but once we were in the clear we couldn’t withhold our laughter any longer.

We proceeded to the monkey cage and flipped of the monkeys repeatedly, after which we returned to our apartment, triumphant.

Kenny and the Spiked Potato

Kenny was a guy like no other. Here is another story about him.

One of the reasons Steve couldn’t pick me up as soon as I would have liked when I was getting chased (see The Great Escape) was because of Kenney. On his way to pick me up, Steve got a call from Kenny. “STEVE!!!! Go. There’s a bird on the sign!”

“What? Is this Kenny?” Steve asked.

“I’M KENNY! I’M KENNY! I’M KENNY!”

“What? What’s up Kenny,” Steve asked. Steve wasn’t very surprised he was getting a weird call from Kenny. He kind of expected it by now.

“The Mexican barbeque… Everything is spinning… I need a ride…” Kenny slurred. Steve realized that something was genuinely wrong this time.

“Ok Kenny, where are you? I’ll come pick you up.” Steve asked

No answer.

“Kenny? Are you there?”

Kenny then mumbled something about a dog and then hung up. Steve got a couple more phone calls like this from Kenny and still couldn’t get a street name or any other useful information from him. Steve drove up and down the streets he had assigned Kenny earlier that day. He finally found Kenny standing on a corner looking straight up in the air and spinning slowly in circles.

Steve rolled down the window and said, “Get in Kenny.” Kenny grabbed the door handle and stood there. There was a look of confusion on his face, like he didn’t know how to open the door. Steve waited and Kenny just stood there. Steve reached over and opened the passenger side door. This time a look of astonishment flashed across Kenny’s face, but he still just stood there. “Come on, Kenny. Get in,” Steve said, trying to hold back the laughter.

Kenny climbed into the van, put his Big Gulp and baked potato in the cup holder, and immediately started rambling incoherently. Steve had no idea what Kenny was trying to tell him. This went on for about ten minutes before Kenny suddenly reclined the seat and went to sleep.

Steve resumed his daily duties with Kenny sleeping in the passenger seat all the while wondering what actually happened.

Kenny woke up an hour or two later and filled Steve in on what happened.

As I was hiding on the floor of the minivan (for the reason I was hiding, read “The Great Escape” from a few weeks ago) Steve and Grady filled me in on Kenny’s story. It was a typical hilarious Kenny story. They said it was best when you hear it straight from Kenny. Not being too far from his area and having some time to kill we went and found him.

We pulled up to Kenny and he jumped in the van with a massive big gulp in his hand.

We inquired, and Kenny divulged his story one more time, clearly happy that people were enjoying it.

“I was walking down to the next street and I saw all these people in a back yard so I stopped to talk to ‘em. I was telling ‘em all about the Simon 3 and how I could put sensors on their doors and they asked if I wanted something to eat. They were having a barbeque and it smelled really good. So I was like, ‘Ok.’ Maybe it will help me get another sale. Oh yeah, I sold a system to this hot blond chick earlier that…

Kenny started talking about a different sale he got earlier in the day and Steve guided him back on topic.

“Ok. So these Mexican guys were getting me a plate of food ready while I was talking to one of the wives or girlfriends or whatever. I was telling her about how the system is cellular based to call 911 so that bad guys can’t cut the phone line and…”

“I know how the system works, Kenny. Keep going with the story.” Grady guided Kenny back on track one more time.

“Oh yeah. So I’m telling her about the system and the guys getting my food ready were kind of laughing and stuff. I didn’t think much about it because I really wanted a sale. So the guys gives me a plate with some grilled chicken and a baked potato. I start eatin’ and telling them about the system and they all seamed really interested. Everybody there was gathered around the picnic table listening to my pitch. I thought I was going to get three sales right there. Do you know how awesome that would be! To get three sales all at the same time! Man, That would be so cool…”

“So what happened next?” I pushed. This is how Kenny’s stories typically went; a lot of prodding to get them out of him, but always well worth the effort.

“When I finished the chicken the guy with the hat asked if I was spinning yet. I didn’t know what he was talking about so I just kept going on with my pitch. Then all the sudden I started to get dizzy and everything felt like it was going in circles around me.”

“So they drugged you?” I clarified.

“I think so,” Kenny replied. “I got up from the picnic table and it was really had to walk and keep my balance. I grabbed the rest of my potato and backed out of their yard so they couldn’t attack me or something and they were laughing the whole time.”

Adrian, the ardent worker he was, saw the van sitting there from a few blocks away and came up in the middle of Kenny’s story. Any excuse to get out of knocking on doors was a good one, especially for Adrian. He caught most of the story and pieced it together with the pieces he read through text messages he had already gotten. He asked Kenny a few questions about what exactly he felt and other circumstances and immediately had an answer.

“They gave you a barb.” Adrian stated very matter of fact-ly. Adrian continued due to the puzzled look on all of our faces. “A barbiturate, most likely a ‘yellow-jacket.’ Probably mashed it up in the potato.” Adrian proceeded to explain what exactly that was and all the effects. Adrian was a stalky Canadian from rural British Columbia. Some earlier suspicions about his recreational drug use were confirmed.

Kenny continued, “So I called you,” as he pointed to Steve, “and told you where I was and you came and picked me up.”

“You never told me where you were, Kenny.” Steve joked.

“Yeah I did, then how’d you find me?” Kenny asked with a puzzled look.

Steve explained, “You said something about a barbeque and a bird, most of the rest was pretty incoherent, but you mentioned something about a dog at the end.”

“Oh Yeah!!!” Kenny exclaimed. “I remember chasing a dog right before you picked me up. I thought he took my Big Gulp.”

We laughed for a good five minutes at that one. Kenny was laughing too but I’m not sure he realized why.