The text from Jamie Munoz, General Manager of Galaxy FBO at Addison, went like this:
A men’s clothing line wants to do a photo shoot for their fall catalog using a couple of airplanes based here. Are you interested?
Five Eight Papa Zulu had been on the cover of this magazine, but never in a style show. But I was curious. “Tell me when and where and I will be there,” I replied.
So, on a ninety-five-degree August afternoon in Dallas, I arrived at the steamy ramp. I expected to see a guy with an iPhone and some dude modeling sandals.
Boy, was I surprised.
More than a dozen folks were scattered across the tarmac. Art directors, video and still camera crews, makeup artists, wardrobe specialists, producers, and more.
This was a big-time photo shoot for Mizzen+Main, a major men’s fashion retailer. They had toured the FBO and located a beautiful Citation Sovereign and my tiny PBaron. Now was my chance to break into the fashion industry. I just might be on the cover of Vogue or Elle.
“Hey, if you need a model, I am available,” I mused to the guy in charge. Instead, he handed me an envelope with a gift card inside. “We really appreciate the airplane,” he said. Slightly deflated, I looked at the card.
“Patty! I texted. These guys just gave me a gift card for FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS!”
“They must have seen what you were wearing and decided you needed a makeover,” she replied. I lowered my white athletic socks slightly to be more stylish.
Then, the models sauntered out. They looked like, well, they looked like those guys you see in fashion magazines. Tall, skinny, bearded, with hair flying everywhere. One of them wasn’t even wearing socks. Please. This was just too much. I decided to stir up the situation.
I flagged down three burly line guys sitting on a huge, red tug. “Gentlemen, the director needs someone to model a ‘micro bikini’ swimsuit for the catalog, I said, trying not to laugh. He needs someone to fill the bill, if you know what I mean.”
They looked at each other in silence. Then one said, “We can’t right now, but one of our guys in the hangar would be perfect.” I told them I would get back to them.
Meanwhile, the crew raced the setting sun to get the perfect shot of a skinny model stepping out of my Baron, tossing his perfectly quaffed hair, and accessorizing with a leather bag draped over his muscular shoulder.
All I could do was stand there and watch. And try to calculate how many pairs of white socks you can buy for fifteen hundred dollars.
Fly safe.
