Forty-Two Regular

“Your flight to JFK is cancelled. We are working to re-book your flight.” I rub my eyes hoping I am reading an e-mail from last week by accident. No, it’s true. It’s another early Monday morning, still dark outside, even in the middle of summer, and they have re-routed me through Phoenix to get to New York?—because that’s on the way! I get in my car and drive to SeaTac, show my TSA precheck pass and fly through security: I keep my shoes on, shove both bags through the scanner, walk through the metal detector, retrieve my Roll-a-board and briefcase, and board the flight. No problem, I think, I am a road warrior after all, I got this!

I check my phone. A text message from a colleague in Manhattan reads, “Horrible here now, really heavy storms.” No problem, I think, storms pass—they always do. So, I am off toward Phoenix and catch a break, the nice flight attendant offers to hang my suit jacket up for me. I have a fleeting concern; I hope she doesn’t forget to bring it back to me when we land. I brush it off and fall fast asleep. The steamy pavement in Phoenix halts our descent and not so gently wakes me from my early morning slumber. 

I head off to find a quiet place to work on the presentation for a client in Manhattan tomorrow. It’s still early, so I find a good breakfast joint, sit down, pull out my laptop and headphones, and get into the zone. What will convince them that we are the right firm to deliver their projects? Is it because we have been in NYC for more than a hundred years? It is because we are smarter than every other firm? (And how do I say that nicely?) It is because I came up with that great idea on that last project? Is it because we want it more? I work feverishly to find a differentiator for the rest of my layover. After 2 hours, I feel like I have put together a good presentation, but it is still not different enough; I am not sure it will resonate with the client. I am good at this. I know how to win work! But it still feels a bit flat.

I start walking to the gate. I’m heading to New York, the city that never sleeps, the city where everyone wears a dark suit with a not-so-colorful tie. This is why I wore a suit, I think to myself. I travel lightly. Whenever I go to New York, where the uniform is a suit and tie, I wear my suit on the plane so I don’t have to pack it.

Wait—where is my suit jacket? Ugh! (Not exactly the word on my mind, but I’ll leave that to your imagination.) It must still be on the plane. The nice flight attendant didn’t remember to bring it back, and I completely forgot and walked off without it.

I run back to the gate where the plane unloaded. “No, no one gave me a suit jacket,” says the gate agent, trying to sympathize with my plight, “and that plane is now on its way to Charlotte.” She directs me to customer service. My next flight, I realize, might already be boarding. As I start walking again, I check the monitor to see how much time I have, DELAYED, it says. Flight departs at 4 p.m.; I guess the storms aren’t passing. Because I am a road warrior, I think of the silver lining: plenty of time to figure out where my suit coat went. I make my way to customer service, dreading the line that inevitably lies ahead of me.

I get in line and half an hour later I am making small talk with the bored lady behind the desk. She is trying to explain to me what happens when some idiot leaves his jacket on the plane. “The gate agent will bring it here if the flight attendant notices your jacket. Otherwise the cleaning crew will bring it to me at the end of their shift,” she says.

Whenever that is, I think to myself. “Is there anything else we can do?” I ask. She gives me a pre-printed card with instructions on how to go on the website and fill out a form. They will keep looking for thirty days to find your beloved lost item, the website says. Thirty days? I need it by tomorrow! I call the Executive Platinum Desk; surely they can help me. I’ve flown some two million miles with this airline. The very polite agent on the phone says, “Let’s see what we can do.” After twenty minutes, he is back with: “Sorry for the delay, I called the Charlotte airport and asked them to check the plane when it lands. If they find it, they will definitely get it back to you.” I say thank you and hang up. I am not sure what I was thinking, there is no way I will see that jacket again in time for the presentation.

I start thinking of alternative options. I call the hotel and ask for the concierge. “Is there any way you could find a place to rent a black sport coat for me and charge it to my room?” Oooh, not sure we can do that. Let me check with my manager, I have to leave in thirty minutes and I am not sure how I can do that. Can I put you on hold? “Sure,” I say, though by now I am resigned to my fate with this hotel. She comes back a mere ten minutes later. I am so sorry, the line for my manager is busy, can I take a message and have him call you back?

I run through the motions of giving my contact information, knowing full well what will come of this. Having still not solved my problem I call Men’s Wearhouse. The cheerful saleswoman answers the phone with “Men’s Warehouse New York, how can I help you?” I think to myself, Sweet, this is going to work. I explain my predicament and propose my own simple (I hope) solution. I want to buy a black sport jacket, 42R in size, and have it delivered to my hotel. I have a credit card ready to give over the phone.

“Oh, sorry,” she says. “We don’t take credit cards over the phone due to security reasons.”

What? Am I in the Twilight Zone and back in the 1980s? There is no persuading her. I hang up the phone, deflated. “Customer Service is dead,” I say to myself.

After several minutes of self-pity I decide to call my co-worker in New York, confess my sins, and ask for a favor. I hate to bother him—it’s not his job to fix my problems for me—but I’m not sure who else to turn to at this point. I ask if he can go buy me a suit, forty-two regular, black, for tomorrow’s presentation. “No problem,” he says without a second thought. “I’ll take care of it. See you tomorrow!” I feel a weight lift from my shoulders, as though hours of stress have just melted away in an instant. The human race is not lost, after all! I think to myself, somewhat dramatically. We do still know how to take care of each other!

Just then a light bulb goes off. I know how to win the client over. We just need to be there for them, to solve whatever problem they have?—no matter how colossal or trivial. We can be like a breath of fresh air my co-worker was to me and say “no problem, I’ll take care of it right away”. They, like many of our clients are responsible for a critical transportation infrastructure network that is aging, gets hit by storms, beaten up by traffic and needs attention. They deal with difficult situations every day. We need to prove to them, that customer service is alive and well with us and we will be there for them in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm, in the middle of that day when nothing seems to be going right. Even if they just need us to pick up a Forty-Two Regular suit jacket for them, we will get right on it.