I received a cryptic direct message today from Len Kendall (aka @LenKendall) via Twitter tonight. Keep in mind that this is during the time that there are rampant spam DMs floating around the Twittersphere…so I almost didn’t even click on the link. But I’d had quite a few conversations with Len so I thought . . . probably not spam.

To my dismay excitement I discovered that I’d been tagged to write a post about seven things that are interesting or different about me.

Here it goes . . .

Attempting to sell newspapers to the blind…

I was 13 years old and I was a paperboy for the East Oregonian. I was out selling newspaper subscriptions door to door when my boss (the 25 year old that had a driver’s license and drove me from town to town) told me that this was the last door of the night but if I got this person to sign up (10^th one of the night) then she’d give me an extra $50. For a thirteen year old . . . that’s a helluva lotta moola.

I knocked on the door and a old blind woman opened the door. Now most kids would’ve given up at this point . . . not I said the thirteen year old money obsessed child. I immediately introduced myself and stated that I was from the East Oregonian. I thought of the most useful reason why an old blind woman would want a subscription to a newspaper—coupons of course. She was on a fixed income and the $7.00 per month subscription would be easily eclipsed by the $50 (totally made that up as $50 was on the brain at the time of the sales pitch) in monthly savings that most (as if there was a study conducted on this) people utilize in coupons.

She didn’t get sold on the idea of the coupon savings but she did remind me of her grandson that she wished she saw more of . . . (WARNING: If you have an old blind grandmother stop reading now.) . . . him because he was such a sweet 10 year old boy. I switched gears immediately and told her that some of the best times of grade school was sitting with my grandmother and reading the newspaper together. Truthful?? Umm. Well, let’s just move on to the rest of the story shall we?? I then proceeded to mention that she should subscribe to the paper so that she can have her grandson come over and read it to her. Not only would it allow her to know of the great content in the East Oregonian but it would also educate her grandson while they spent . . . true . . . quality . . . time . . . TOGETHER.

I can’t remember what I spent the $50 on but I am sure I am sure it was worth going to hell for . . .

What would you do for $100? Here’s my story . . .

I was 20 years old . . . going to college in Ogden, UT (majored in Technical Sales & Marketing . . . imagine that). I come from a middle class family and I’d tapped out all the money from my parents, friends, and my sweet “newspaper reading” grandma that I could. I had $60 to my name. I was reading the classifieds in the newspaper (it was 1996 they were still useful then) for job listings and found one that seemed way over my head but thought it would be some good interviewing experience. Plus it had something called a 401-K…whatever the hell that was…

I walk into the office with a black two button suit white shirt and tie to find the interviewer smoking a cigarette, unshaven for a couple of days, wearing a collared shirt and some dingy jeans. Keep in mind smoking indoors is illegal in Utah even back in 1996—so he was breaking the law and I’m not a fan of cigarette smoke so I definitely noticed it. This guy turns out to be the staunchest New Yorker I know still to this day. I try to mirror and match him the best I can in the interview. Try to build commonalities. Try to create relationships of trust. Mimic his body language. Do it all . . . at the end he dismisses me and I swear I didn’t have a prayer at the job.

A week later I get a call and his secretary tells me to come back in for a second interview. I walk into the office and the first thing he says is, “What the fuck kid don’t you own more than one suit?” I reply, “Nope. Sure don’t. I am broke as hell and this is all I’ve got.” He grunts and motions me into his office. We chat a bit and then he pulls out a check for $34,000 and asks me, “How’d you like to make that type of money?” I respond sheepishly with, “Per year? Sure that’d be great.” He laughs a smart ass laugh and says, “Kid…that’s my check for one month. I can show you how to make that type of money.” With my eyeballs have popped out of my head, I respond, “Seriously? Hell yeah. That’d be SWEET!!” He then rolls out a wad of hundreds (probably over $5K worth) and peels a hunskie off and says, “Kid, I’ll pay you $100.00 right now if you will run into that wall right there as hard as you can.”

The imprint I left in the wall stayed there for the full two years I worked in that office.

Hello, my name is Brent, I mean it’s . . .

After collecting my $100.00 from the loveliest interviewer I’ve ever had, he moves forward to state, “Son. You’ve got drive. You’ve got real drive. I can see it in your eyes and I’d love to hire you. But you see . . . I just can’t.” Shocked, I respond, “What? I just ran into a wall for you and you are telling me you still aren’t going to hire me? Why not!!?” He nonchalantly responds, “Well you see we already have a Brent in this small office and it would be too confusing to the customers to have to ask for Brent Bylund or Brent Payne so . . . thanks for your time kid. I wish you the best of luck—I truly do.” Making sure I am wise to discover the primary concern, restate the objection and provide an alternative…I respond with, “So you are telling me that the only reason you won’t hire me is because my first name is Brent? That’s the only reason? Otherwise you’d hire me?” Lighting up another cig, he responds, “Yep. Sorry kid.”

Determined, I reply, “I’ll see you Monday morning at 7:30am. I’m going by my middle name of David from now on.”

For ten years I was known in my professional life as David Payne. It wasn’t until I got out of the ecommerce industry that I started going by Brent again. Funniest part though is that my then wife always referred to me as David Payne when we were at company dinners, functions, calls into the office, etc. but all other times she called me Brent . . . she has a few other names she calls me now since the divorce though.

The Holy Spirit works in . . . ummm . . . mysterious ways?

It’s Tremonton, UT in early 1996. I’m on an LDS Mission Mormon Mission…yep sporting the white shirt and tie, black name tag pocket protector that reads “Elder Payne” the whole ball of wax…and my companion and I knock on the millionth door that day within a low income apartment complex to be greeted with a scrawny, party going, young 20 something male. We open with the most appropriate line for the quick sizing up we can make of the fellow and opt for the, “We’re missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and we’d like to share a message with you about our Heavenly Father and the plan he has to help us return back unto Him someday.” Yikes, bad opening line I guess as he then goes off on a tirade about how there is no god and he is an Atheist because, “If there was a god there wouldn’t be this much suffering in the world.” My companion tries to make a few inroads with the ‘approved’ approaches to overcome this objection but I decide to take a different approach to the matter.

I flatly ask him a simple question, “How do your balls feel right now?” He responds with, “What the fuck you talking about? How do my balls feel right now?” My companion is wondering if the pot smoke bellowing out from inside the apartment is getting to my brain as I repeat the question, “How do your balls feel right now?” The staunch Atheist responds, “Hell I don’t know how they feel right now. Fine, I guess. I don’t take a constant inventory of how my balls feel but I guess they feel fine.” With my companion tucking at me to leave, I state, “So you don’t really appreciate how they feel right now. But if I were to kick you in the balls as hard as I could then I bet you’d realize just how good your balls felt before I kicked you in the balls wouldn’t you?” He grunts, “Yeah, I guess. So??” With my companion standing in disbelief that this is actually happening to him on his mission, I make my point, “Sometimes God has to let people get kicked in the balls sometimes so they learn to appreciate just how good their balls feel most of the time. We as humans need to learn to appreciate the blessings in our lives whether that be normal feeling balls or greater blessings such as friends, family, and the gift of the Gospel. May we come in and share with you a bit more about the mysterious ways God may work to help lead us back to Him?”

He was baptized 6 weeks later . . .

The rest of the story… My companion shared the experience with a group of over 100 missionaries at the mission meeting a few weeks later . . . half the group roared in laughter the other half stood sheepishly as they listened to the Mission President lecture me on how that was a less effective approach and not the Holy Spirit. I was transferred to Rawlins, WY (i.e. mission hell) at the next transfer. Whatever . . .

The sign of a true friend.

It is Irrigon, OR a hell hole in northeastern Oregon with the only redeeming quality being that it resides along the Columbia River with some of the flattest waterskiing water you’ll ever know. Most people are dating the same people in high school that they dated in Kindergarten. Very few people move in and very few people move out. I’m chatting with my best friend about how I’m giving up that Sandra is ever going to breakup with her boyfriend in Richland, WA and I can’t handle doing whatever it is that she and I are doing. I need to start dating someone else.

He does what any best friend would do in a situation like this . . . he offers up his sister as an offering unto his best friend by stating, “Hey. My sister isn’t dating anyone and neither are you so . . . you should ask her out.”

I marry her almost 3 years later and she divorces me nearly 10 years later. But my best friend and I are still great friends . . . now that’s a friendship. Though it has been discussed as to whether or not he owes me a portion of the resulting alimony and child support.

I hope I am right that the statute of limitations was three years

During my good financial times of just a few years back, I made the midlife crisis decision to lease a 2005 Dodge Viper SRT-10 Mamba Edition Convertible. That car was a blast for the approx. two years that I leased it for $1,500 a month. My cousin came down to visit one weekend and we took the Viper for a little spin . . .

Here’s the resulting video:

http://www.brentdavidpayne.com/paynephotos/Viper/ViperRollerCoaster.wmv

OMG, is it really 1:30am . . . doing a lame 7^th one then . . .

Although I have a million other things I could be doing that would be much more beneficial to my career, personal life, or just stress management . . . I stay up until 1:30am writing this blog post because I get caught up in some type of Meme . . . ugh. Len Kendall . . . you owe me 2 hours of my life.

Now for my seven people:

Jeremiah Andrick
@jandrick

Tony Adam
@tonyadam

Joanna Lord
@joannalord

Amanda Maurer
@acmaurer

Kate Morris
@katemorris

Kristy Bolsinger
@kristyann

Amanda Coolong
@acoolong

And my alternate in case one of these people already did this . . .

Bill Adee
@bill80

P.S. No way I am proofing this post at 1:30am . . . sorry for any grammar or spelling errors . . . good night.