When there are fifteen of us gathered for our saturday sales meeting, we brighten up the room, and believe me, it's not because of our sparkling personalities. It is, the YELLOW shirts.
When we got the yellow shirts, there was much grumbling. jokes about removing stains with a highlighter, radioactive references, and of course, the whole, 'We look like security guards' narrative.
(If you have ever been to Vegas, you know that all the security officers in the casino hotels wear bright yellow shirts. .... but, I dare say, not THIS YELLOW). That being said, I really kinda like the shirts. We were all required to purchase 1 of the shirts. I purchased 3, because I like YELLOW. I would wear the shirt every day, and actually wear it a couple times a week, prepared for the yellow shaming from my friends, all in fun. I have even seen a few of them wearing the shirt when not required. ? It works with my skin tone.
Every so often on a Saturday, a customer will be on the lot, and out of professional courtesy, I will ask them if they have been helped. "Oh, yes", they will say. "The guy in the YELLOW shirt is finding a car for us".... Much like the man in the bowler hat in The Thomas Crown Affair. Yes, very helpful.
Soooooo, yesterday, being a Saturday, YELLOW shirt day, my day ended by me having to pick a customer up at McCarren airport. He was flying in to drive his new Kia from Jim Marsh Kia (plug plug) back to L.A. So, being the extreme customer service kinda guy that I am, I drove the 40 minutes to the airport, dealing with flight delays and the whole bit (his flight was delayed over an hour) and waited patiently for him in the baggage claim area to arrive. I did inform him that I would be in the brightest YELLOW shirt I believe he has ever seen, or indeed will ever see again.
The flight board informed me that I had about a 25 minute wait until his flight arrived. So, there I stood, playing words with friends, and candy crush peacefully minding my own business when out of the blue, it began.
A weary disheveled traveler walked up and asked me where to go for lost luggage. I informed him that I do not work there, and I am sorry, I have no clue. He then read my shirt: the bold red letters above the left pocket saying Jim Marsh Kia (plug, plug), shook his head and walked away. Within 30 seconds, a young couple in party mode (there was no doubt), walked up to me with alcohol induced increased speaking volume, demanded I take them to the shuttle for the Flamingo hotel and casino. I smiled and said, I don't work here. They, in no uncertain terms, informed me that I should not be wearing a F****** YELLOW shirt. They then proceeded to stumble up to a Limo driver, also waiting for his customer and yelled at him, for probably wearing a funny limo guy hat. I just shook my head, made a remark to him about tourists, and continued my vigil.
Within another minute, a somewhat looking confused gentleman with his cap on sideways and 46 pounds of gold chains proceeded to ask me, quite forcefully to show him where the international terminal was. I told him, I wished I could help, but I don't work here. He paused a moment, and said, "Hey, I was just askin'...do you know where it is?" I told him no, and he walk off in a huff.
Now, I have been at the baggage claim all of about 7 minutes and have guided people to the rest room, shuttle busses, and baggage carousel 12. Hmmm, maybe it is time to hide. So, I took a post behind the ATM in the corner. Alas, the radiance of the YELLOW shirt is not easily dimmed. More people, more directions, more "Sorry, I don't work here."
I looked up. Another man headed toward me. My initial thought was to kick him square in the...."Hey, Ron....we made it...." It was my customer. I hurried him and his girlfriend out of the baggage claim into the safety of my car, and drove to where the paperwork was signed. Delivered the car and put a cap on the night.
On the way home, I stopped at the Casino to pop in to see who won the fight. As I peered at the board, happy in knowing I had accomplished my mission with my customer, Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to face a nice older gentleman. "Excuse me," he said, "Do you work here?"