The Prank War

Chet and I don’t always agree on everything, and this can get us to war against each other, but one way to get us to forge together is to try and screw with both of us. It started pretty innocently…we were in our sales teams getting ready for the day, when someone from one of the other teams got a squirt gun and was squirting people with it. We thought “no big deal” and over the next few days a water fight occurred. We would pour a water bottle down someone’s shirt, they would get a hose on us, back and forth in a juvenile fashion, and no one got hurt. It was fun.
Jack was the son of a Japanese immigrant who had made a great living for himself in Southern California. He had been recruited and came out to Kansas City, but he was fun-loving guy…didn’t mind goofing around. Jack decided, in the midst of the water fight, that he would take things up a notch. Chet and I always seemed to stand out during the water fight as primary antagonizers, so Jack targeted us first. We got in the van, and Chet was driving, only to find the seat was soaked with water…lots of water. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but we had a half-hour drive out to our area, and the humidity didn’t allow for much evaporation; Chet had to knock all day with a wet butt, and the seat stayed wet for at least a week. We got Jack back in the water fight the next day with a couple buckets of water and thought the matter was put to rest, but Jack was no quitter.
We piled in the vans as usual on a hot, muggy Kansas City day to find our van reeked like something awful. After 10-15 minutes of driving we located the source—several cans of tuna fish, dumped into the storage bays below the seats…growing things. A few people vomited, and a few people gagged, and those with strong stomachs disposed of the disgusting science project-looking tuna. Chet and I exchanged looks and we knew this would not end well for Jack. Amidst the searching for the smell, we had found a pair of shoes…Jack’s shoes. “What kind of idiot, in the middle of a prank war, would leave his shoes in the hands of the enemy?” I laughed.
“Well what can you do with his shoes?” Someone else replied, wondering what you could possibly do to a pair of shoes that would be so vile. I didn’t even have to think.
As we drove, Chet and I plotted other ways to pay Jack back if the retaliated against our plan, including a severe antiquing (flour in the face), powdered milk in the bed (soaks into your pores and makes you reek for days), or maybe even killing his parents and making him eat them (like that one South Park…but not seriously).
After a long day of knocking with no sales, I decided it was time. We all piled out of the van, and everyone headed towards their apartment, but Chet and I walked towards Jack’s place. We placed the shoes next to the front door, in hopes he would realize we had kindly returned them, but before we departed, Chet stood watch while I unzipped and let loose a stream of urine I had been saving all day. The shoes began to absorb the pee at first, but they eventually began to fill. It was difficult to maintain a constant stream, Chet and I were laughing so hard, but after a few moments the job was done. We called it Operation PeeShoe.
Not much later, Jack’s team came back from knocking. Jack had a good day, a sale or two, and felt like celebrating. He had been wearing his walking shoes all day, and before going out for the night to celebrate, he wanted to get his shoes out of our van. Seeing they weren’t there, he went home, to find his shoes had kindly been returned. It was dark by now, and the poorly lit porch didn’t provide much opportunity to see what was coming. Chet and I watched from the distance as Jack untied and kicked off his walking shoes and reached for his pee shoes...
Jack finished the summer without changing shoes again.