From the Apr 26 – May 2, 2001 issue

News

Meet the Messengers

Former Kozmo.com Employees Tell All

by Pat Kearney

Inside a Capitol Hill warehouse on 10th Avenue, nervous site managers for Kozmo.com are still scrambling to pack up bike parts, furniture, file cabinets, and gallons of orange paint. Boxes of videos and computers line the walls, ready to be shipped off and sold to pay back Kozmo's creditors. "Every day we're here costs us more and more money," said one anonymous employee on Thursday, April 19. Out in the warehouse parking lot, little remains of an old, homemade bike ramp. The bicycle delivery riders known as "Kozmonauts" frequently killed time jumping the ramp when business was slow.

Business was slow a lot at Kozmo.com.

Two weeks ago, on April 12, the online delivery service shut its doors in the nine cities across the country where it still had operations, laying off 1,100 people. With the help of major local investors like Starbucks and Amazon, Kozmo managed to burn through $280 million in three years. Kozmo had just started turning a profit in Boston, New York, and San Francisco, but it was too little, too late. "Given more time and more hospitable market conditions, Kozmo would have succeeded," said CEO Gerry Burdo in an issued statement. At the Capitol Hill bar Linda's, The Stranger met with former Kozmo employees and diehard bikers Matt Messenger, 30, and Caillon Sims, 30, to find out what the hell happened.

Okay, so what was going on with Kozmo in the last few weeks?

MATT: Our work force was decomposing; we were trying to stay alive, stay afloat. We had a lot of "pep talk" meetings about it. You know, they would say, "We're still in business everyone, but we have to work harder." We knew it could go down whenever, especially after they pulled the Starbucks boxes. [Kozmo planned to pay Starbucks $150 million over five years to have Kozmo's video-return drop boxes in 900 Starbucks stores.]

CAILLON: The managers made it seem like every company has to make cutbacks after the busy Christmas season. It felt like they were hiding something, and that made all the employees curious.

So everyone was anticipating Kozmo closing soon?

CAILLON: Yeah, especially after they laid off the general manager about two months ago--he was the first one to go. Then the layoffs just started trickling down from there. We thought the janitor was going to be running the place! There was a meeting with a potential investor that fell through, so we knew it was just a matter of time. But I foresaw it all. A month ago, I made this big sandwich cardboard sign in my room that I wore, and it said 'The End Is Near," and on the back I wrote, "Kozmo dot who?" The last day after we went out of business, I wore it all around the warehouse. I went up to all the managers and was like, "How do you like my sign?"

Tell me about the last day.

CAILLON: The supervisors were totally freaking out, making sure we didn't grab the computers. They said we had five minutes to get our stuff out, because they were locking the doors.

MATT: Yeah, they thought we were going to loot the place. They actually had a locksmith already there changing the locks.

Where were you when you actually found out Kozmo was closing?

MATT: I was out on the route, pulling up to Bauhaus cafe where we had a drop box, and Caillon called me and said they pulled the plug and to come back to base immediately.

CAILLON: Man, I left the warehouse to go to the store and get some ice cream, because it was all nice out and stuff. So I went to get some, and when I got back, I didn't have a job! That's how fast it happened. I was like, man, I just wanted some fucking ice cream--you didn't have to fire me!

Did you guys get any severance packages or compensation?

CAILLON: Hell no, but we got a big kick in the ass on the way out, and you can quote me on that!

MATT: All we got was our last paycheck and the last of our vacation hours. Nothing else.

Why do you think Kozmo failed?

MATT: At first, they had all this money and investors, so they hired a ton. But there were like 30 riders watching a fucking movie in the warehouse while three riders made deliveries.

CAILLON: Kozmo was trying to conquer too much, in too big of an area. And they messed with the delivery fee all the time. First it was free, then it was $2, then it was $5. It wasn't set, and it confused the customers.

MATT: It's too bad, because business was picking up. There were a lot of loyal customers.

CAILLON: Yeah, a lot of lazy, stoner customers.

MATT: All different kinds of customers. I had this one guy, pretty much the porn king in town. He was making a killing off of all his porno websites. That motherfucker never tipped me once.

CAILLON: One delivery guy I knew went to a house and there was a sign on the front door to go around back. So he goes in the back, and there's this buck-ass naked guy in a hot tub who's like begging, "Please come in, come in!" Crazy.

Was that a typical day at Kozmo?

MATT: Both me and Caillon didn't do much delivery; we picked up videos on our bikes from the Kozmo drop boxes all over the Capitol Hill/Downtown area, and then returned them to the video stores. We had like 65 stops per day. It was one of the hardest jobs there, but it gave us more freedom than delivery. We loved it.

CAILLON: Especially when we got special requests from beautiful girls to ride in the bike trailer. Which we definitely provided.

That happened?

CAILLON: More than you know. The job was a great way to meet women, man.

So what are you guys going to do now?

MATT: I might start my own delivery business, call it Kosme.com or something like that. And sell all my orange crap--the clothes, the hats, the bags--to the highest bidder. Or I'll just use them as shop rags.

CAILLON: Maybe I'll wear my sandwich sign around town until somebody hires me.

pat@thestranger.com