Saturday night. In the Atlanta airport. Crown Room Club [thank Goodness]. En route home from Las Vegas. About which I will write much more later. It is late. But not as late as it feels just now. Made to feel even later by the fact that some guy in the next cubicle is, as I write, playing "I Got You Babe" by Sonny and Cher off his laptop. Loudly. I am NOT kidding. Trust me, it is VERY hard to work under these conditions.
But that is not why I write. It struck me on the way to the Crown Room Club how great Delta pilot uniforms look. Navy blue. Just enough gold. Caps. As it should be. Observe the photo from airlinepilotforums.com above. Respectable. Confident. Flight worthy. Combat tested. What you want in your pilots.
A convincing piece of evidence in my continuing crusade against the "office casual" movement. Call me a sartorial Don Quixote if you will, I think this is one of the great cloth-based disasters of the modern era. If not the greatest. How would you like it if your pilot showed up for work in some logo golf shirt and wrinkled khakis? Like 90 percent of workplace America? I would get right off that airplane. It may just be me. Or the bourbon talking. But I think not. The folks I am responsible for at work are attorneys. I make sure they dress like it. People pay us a lot of money for advice that most of the time is founded in art. Not science. They deserve the clothes for what they pay. It makes them feel a little more comfortable, often in very difficult circumstances. Which is also what they are paying for. I want my group to look like Denny Crane:
with somewhat moderated behavior.
There was a best selling book when I was in college called "Dress For Success". It was founded on tests where people picked out the "most competent" and "smartest" people from photos. Guess what? None of the "wrinkled khaki" crowd got picked. Whether they could fly the damn plane or not. Just something to think about when you are getting ready for work on Monday. A thought for you sitting comfortable and at home. No doubt in front of your mid-autumn fires. From the Atlanta Crown Room Club. Too late on a Saturday night. Sonny and Cher blaring. Over and out...