It was 1 a.m. on a Sunday night in March, and I was standing at the luggage carousel at the Panama City Airport in Florida, waiting for my bags. In just seven hours, I would be meeting with a two-star Air Force general on a sales call, and I was eager to be on my way.
After watching every piece of luggage be claimed, it occurred to me that my bags hadn’t made the trip with me. Standing there in jeans and a Yankees sweatshirt, only one thought raced through my mind: how do I find a suit at this hour?
Not that I was surprised by my predicament. When I had made my connection in Atlanta a few hours earlier, the flight attendant had announced that the plane was overbooked, and asked for a volunteer to take the next flight.
Surrounded mostly by rowdy college students heading for spring break, I thought I was the one person who really needed to be on this flight. It was the last plane out for the day, and I had a critical sales call the following morning. I couldn’t afford to volunteer.
Of course, the airline didn’t see it that way. After nobody raised a hand, I was informed that I had been “selected” because I had the cheapest ticket. I was spared at the last moment when a good-hearted teenager stepped forward to get off, but not before my luggage had been removed.
Where do you go to buy a suit at 2 a.m.? In Panama City, you head over to Wal-Mart.
It’s surprising how many people are there after midnight. I left with a pair of chinos, blue dress shirt, belt, socks and underwear. My bill came to a whopping $45.
As I drove to the meeting, I couldn’t help feeling self-conscious. My military counterparts would be dressed in crisp dark suits, while I was trying to get used to my ill-fitting, itchy $45 wardrobe. I looked ridiculous.
Presenting to a two-star general under the best of circumstances can be a nerve-racking experience. It’s a very formal affair. The general comes in, and the entire room stands at attention. There were probably 20 members of his staff there, all dressed in their spit-polished best.
Maybe I was imagining it, but as I delivered my presentation that morning, I could have sworn that I saw a few smirks in the room. Fortunately, the military could see past my sartorial snafu, and the meeting went well. But best of all, I got a new outfit out of it, which I’ve been able to use again since my Florida sales call. It was for “Colonial Day” at my daughter’s school. I was supposed to be dressed as a farmer.
Don Thoma is the executive vice president for Iridium.
It was 1 a.m. on a Sunday night in March, and I was standing at the luggage carousel at the Panama City Airport in Florida, waiting for my bags. In just seven hours, I would be meeting with a two-star Air Force general on a sales call, and I was eager to be on my way.
After watching every piece of luggage be claimed, it occurred to me that my bags hadn’t made the trip with me. Standing there in jeans and a Yankees sweatshirt, only one thought raced through my mind: how do I find a suit at this hour?
Not that I was surprised by my predicament. When I had made my connection in Atlanta a few hours earlier, the flight attendant had announced that the plane was overbooked, and asked for a volunteer to take the next flight.
Surrounded mostly by rowdy college students heading for spring break, I thought I was the one person who really needed to be on this flight. It was the last plane out for the day, and I had a critical sales call the following morning. I couldn’t afford to volunteer.
Of course, the airline didn’t see it that way. After nobody raised a hand, I was informed that I had been “selected” because I had the cheapest ticket. I was spared at the last moment when a good-hearted teenager stepped forward to get off, but not before my luggage had been removed.
Where do you go to buy a suit at 2 a.m.? In Panama City, you head over to Wal-Mart.
It’s surprising how many people are there after midnight. I left with a pair of chinos, blue dress shirt, belt, socks and underwear. My bill came to a whopping $45.
As I drove to the meeting, I couldn’t help feeling self-conscious. My military counterparts would be dressed in crisp dark suits, while I was trying to get used to my ill-fitting, itchy $45 wardrobe. I looked ridiculous.
Presenting to a two-star general under the best of circumstances can be a nerve-racking experience. It’s a very formal affair. The general comes in, and the entire room stands at attention. There were probably 20 members of his staff there, all dressed in their spit-polished best.
Maybe I was imagining it, but as I delivered my presentation that morning, I could have sworn that I saw a few smirks in the room. Fortunately, the military could see past my sartorial snafu, and the meeting went well. But best of all, I got a new outfit out of it, which I’ve been able to use again since my Florida sales call. It was for “Colonial Day” at my daughter’s school. I was supposed to be dressed as a farmer.
Don Thoma is the executive vice president for Iridium.
Christopher Elliott is the author of Scammed: How to Save Your Money and Find Better Service in a World of Schemes, Swindles, and Shady Deals. Critics have called it “eye-opening” and “inspiring” — it’ll “grab your attention and won’t let go.” Order your copy now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or iTunes.
Elliott is consumer advocate 
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