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.

Peeing

Just a quick note, most girls probably won’t like this story. Read at your own risk, girls.

Door-to-door sales can be a tough job, especially for someone who doesn’t like to intrude on other people. Most of us were like that when we started. It was hard enough for me to get through a pitch at a door, much less ask someone for something after they had already rejected me in the first place. One of the things I hated to ask was to use someone’s bathroom…as a result, I often found myself peeing under a bridge, in some bushes, behind a vacant house, or even in a co-workers shoes (see The Prank War). Thinking back, I’m surprised I felt more comfortable peeing in public than peeing in someone’s house.

I wasn’t the only who relieved himself creatively either. One of the guys who worked with us had to go #2 so bad one day that he found a house no one was home at and pooped in the backyard. He came back with only one sock…we all thought he was pretty funny, but his wife didn’t seem to agree. This was the first of many interesting reliefs over the summer…as time went on we all discovered the joy of peeing in water bottles while we were on the move. The first time I had to pee and didn’t have an option, Steve picked me up and threw me a water bottle. It took some time, but I eventually succeeded, and thus the trend started. We would be driving along, listening to the radio in silence, and we would suddenly hear the sound of a stream of liquid filling a plastic water bottle. At first this was quite comical, but it actually became fairly commonplace.

As time went on, it became normal to jump into the back of the van and find a pee-filled water bottle. We would dispose of our own waste every night, so the van didn’t get too full of refuse, but as time went on the peeing moved into new realms. Steve, or manager, would often come to the houses we were making a sale at to help close the deal. Steve’s favorite past-time quickly became asking to use the customer’s bathroom, and instead of peeing in the toilet, he would pee in the sink. We’re not sure why this was so hilarious, but it caught on. Instead of bragging about how many sales we got that day, we would brag about how many sinks we had peed in. This was a big change for me, since at the beginning of the summer I was embarrassed to use a customer’s bathroom, and now I was abusing them.

One evening, we were all waiting for Grady, one of the other salesmen, to come out of a sale so we could all go home. Taylor, another salesman, was sitting in the backseat drinking a fountain-drink from 7-11 when an idea hit him. He finished the soda and jumped behind the backseat into the trunk area of the van, where he proceeded to…not pee…but poop in his empty Styrofoam cup. About three seconds after the other 5 guys in the van realized what he was doing, we escaped the van before we felt like puking. Taylor remained in the van for a few minutes before exiting the trunk hatch with his prize possession, when we all informed him that he and his friend were both not welcome for the ride home. Taylor placed the poop-cup behind a tree just in time for Grady to come out of the sale, and as we all drove home in silence, Grady sat, wondering what the awkwardness had resulted from.

The next day, no one peed in bottles, cups, or even sinks. Except for Grady, but we made him drink his pee as punishment.

Kenny and the $35.29 Big Gulps

Kenny, like half of the office, was a Canuck. Some things just plain escaped him. Debit cards were one of those things.

As mentioned in other stories, Kenny always had a Big Gulp. Every time I saw him he had a Big Gulp with him. Once, I saw him get into the van without one and I was shocked. Then he got a worried look on his face as he jumped out of the van. He scrambled around outside until he found his Big Gulp sitting on the curb. Every day Kenny would buy his Big Gulp, sometimes two or three of them a day. Without fail.

Firstline didn’t have the best track record when it came to paying employees. The first few weeks of the summer only a couple people got paid the right amount at the right time. We all opened up accounts at US Bank because it was right across the street from our office. Every payday the bank was a madhouse in the morning with everyone showing up to deposit checks and such.

Kenny knew how much he was suppose to be getting paid. But he didn’t keep very good track of how much he was actually getting paid. One payday Kenny deposited his check and the teller handed him his deposit slip and Kenny’s jaw dropped open in disbelief.

“$238?!” Kenny exclaimed. “How can I be negative $238?!” Kenny proceeded to argue with the teller who clearly didn’t care what kind of predicament this put Kenny in. Kenny picked up on the fact that the girl didn’t care and he got louder and louder.

Finally a senior teller stepped in and pulled Kenny over to her desk. “What seems to be the problem?” she asked in a soft, grandmotherly sort of tone.

Kenny quieted down some but was still visibly angered. He told the lady that it was impossible that he could be $238 in the hole. “All I buy is Big Gulps,” he said.

The lady patiently explained that Kenny had been buying all of his big gulps for the past week when he didn’t have any real money in his account. Each time he bought a $1.29 Big Gulp he was also incurring an additional overdraft fee of $34.00.

Kenny was irate. He was so mad he could barely talk. The only thing he could say is, “But, that’s not how debit cards work in Canada!” His argument got louder and more incoherent. The lady calmed him down once again and told him she would wave one or two of the fees but he would still have to pay off the rest.

Kenny realized he had nothing left to argue and left. He decided to open another account at a different bank and leave his debt here when he went back to Canada at the end of the summer. Kenny still bought Big Gulps on a daily basis.

Kenny

Kenny is a guy unlike any guy I’ve ever met. How can I describe Kenny…he has a messy-hair look all the time, and I guess that pretty much summarizes his whole life…messy hair. Let me explain a little better.

I first met Kenny the night after I got to Kansas City. I had flown in from San Antonio that morning and went straight out to knock and get some sales. At the end of the day, Steve picked me up and I met up with Chet and talked about how the last few weeks down in Texas had been for me. We headed back to the office and inside I saw…Kenny.

Kenny looked confused…he was just standing in the middle of the room, staring at the dry-erase board where we recorded the sales, holdng a Big Gulp.

“Hey, you need something?” I asked the clearly confused young man.

“I got a sale today but the board says I didn’t…” Kenny motioned to the board and sure enough, it didn’t say he had any sales. It also didn’t have anyone else’ sales recorded either, and it being my first day in a new office, I was a little confused myself. Kenny laughed to himself as he shook his head and walked away. That was Kenny.

Over the next three months, Kenny would never cease to amaze me. One morning, as we all gathered in for the ritual morning cheer, Kenny seemed confused about something.

“Has anyone here ever heard of that Jeep thing?” Kenny shouted to us as we were milling about.

“Like…the car?” Someone replied.

“No not like that,” Kenny responded, as he set down his Big Gulp, got down on all fours and began crawling about, saying “Beep, beep, I’m a Jeep…beep, beep, I’m a Jeep!”

Everyone stared at Kenny in shock, not knowing if we were supposed to laugh, cry, or even join him…but that was Kenny. After he ‘explained’ what the Jeep thing was, he got up, grabbed his Big Gulp, and walked out without saying another word…that was Kenny.

Outside Kenny’s odd outbursts and interesting personality, he was a pretty good salesman and pretty luck as well. Kenny usually came back with a sale at the end of the day, and even if he didn’t, someone he had talked with extensively would call him a few days later.

“We wish we had listened to you, Kenny, our house got robbed last night and we want an alarm now,” they would state. Kenny would get their information and get over to their house immediately to seal the deal. This happened at least four times to Kenny, and we all just thought he was lucky. Turned out, he wasn’t.

Kenny walked into the office barefoot one day with a Big Gulp in his hand after going to sign a deal earlier that morning. No one thought it was beyond Kenny to forget his shoes, but we decided to ask him what happened anyway. Kenny took a breath and began to explain.

“We’re so glad you could come back and get us this alarm system…we wish we had listened to you before we were robbed.” Kenny sipped on his Big Gulp and listened to his client as they were ready to sign the papers, and consoled them on the emotional event. Just as the woman was about to sign the papers, she looked down and asked “What kind of shoes are those?”

“Oh these, these are Nike Shox…I got them about a week ago.” The woman set the pen down and pulled out a business card the detective had given her hours prior. Ten minutes later, Kenny was being asked to relinquish his shoes by that same detective.

“Listen here, sonny,” the detective grumbled, “Nike Shox are the same kind of shoe that was used to kick this door in the other night when fine these people were robbed.” Kenny had no idea what the officer was getting at, but as Kenny explained that his shoes were taken, we helped clarify that he was now a suspect in the robbery. Lucky for him, Kansas City police are more concerned with the half a dozen murders a day than with salesmen like Kenny. Lucky for him this wasn’t Raytown.

We all thought the incident was odd and very coincidental, but we all laughed it off as another interesting moment in door-to-door sales history. That is, until the drive out to our area, when someone suggested that maybe Kenny did rob that lady’s house, along with all the other houses that had been robbed where he got a sale afterwards. Kenny’s roommates had explained how weird Kenny was, every morning he would stand out on the balcony, talking and laughing while having a cigarette, but no one would be out there with him. Then, he would often be unable to recall conversations he had with other people in the office, or even customers. We pieced it together and realized that maybe Kenny had robbed all those houses and he just didn’t remember.

“Maybe Kenny is like Tyler Durden, like from Fight Club,” someone suggested. We all got a laugh at that, but then the laugh turned into a quiet realization that maybe they were right. Maybe Kenny had an alter-ego or a split personality, or maybe he was just crazy. The pieces came together in my mind…the talking to himself, the odd one-sided conversations, and the look in his eyes like he wasn’t really there…that was Kenny.