I love orange shirts

I recently attended a conference at Wheaton College. I'd been to the school before, but didn't really know where anything was. My friend Matt and I parked within a dozen yards of a banner denoting our conference. But it turned out that was mostly a good place to hang a banner, not really the main place where the meeting was being held.



As we walked up toward the banner we were met by a couple young people in orange shirts. They informed us that our first order was to register in the gym. "Follow the sidewalk that way," the orange shirt pointed and said. Matt and I strode off obediently. Just at the point when I was thinking, "Where's the dang gym?" another orange shirt materialized and said, "Need to register? Just this way." At the gym, an orange shirt opened the door. At dinner a particularly intrepid orange shirt held open two doors at once to let in the thronging masses. Like signs in the Paris Metro, the orange shirts seemed to always be where I needed them.

I wanted to bring one home with me.

How cool would that be? Someone who knew the schedule, knew where the places were that you needed to be, and held open the door when you got there. And all this with a smiling face. Amazing and wonderful.

It makes me wonder if the orange shirts all came from Utah or maybe Enterprise Car Rental.