Patrick Mahomes’s Driver Is Treated Like a Thief in a Watch Store—Until the Owner Learns the Truth
The Rolex Submariner gleamed under the pristine lighting of Prestige Time Pieces, seemingly within Marcus Johnson’s reach, yet separated by an invisible barrier far more impenetrable than the glass showcase. Marcus had saved for three years to afford this watch, but he was about to discover that in the world of luxury retail, $12,500 wasn’t the only price he’d be expected to pay.
In the heart of Oakland, Marcus Johnson woke up before his alarm, as he had done for over five years. At 35, the son of a teacher and a mechanic, his face bore the marks of a life of hard work and determination. His mother always said, “Character is what you do when no one is looking,” a lesson Marcus applied to every aspect of his life.
His professional journey began at 16, washing cars. Later, he became a driver for a limousine company, standing out for his professionalism and detailed knowledge of the Bay Area. The big turning point came four years ago when he was called to pick up Patrick Mahomes at the airport. What should have been just another ride turned into a pleasant conversation, and two weeks later, Marcus received an offer to become Mahomes’s full-time personal driver.
“Working for Patrick changed my life,” Marcus once confided to his brother. “It’s not just about the excellent salary, it’s about the respect.”
During his long journeys transporting Mahomes, Marcus developed a passion for luxury watches. What began as curiosity turned into a genuine interest in craftsmanship. In his spare time, he studied catalogs and watchmaking forums. For three years, he meticulously saved every overtime hour, every tip, every bonus—deposited into an account he called the “dream fund.” His goal: a Rolex Submariner. Not the most expensive, but a symbol of what he had achieved.
On this particular morning, Mahomes was away on a family retreat, giving Marcus a rare day off. He took a deep breath and reviewed his plan: he would go to Prestige Time Pieces, one of San Francisco’s most renowned luxury watch stores. He had researched the place for months, admired the models in the window whenever he passed by. Today, he would finally enter as a customer.
Prestige Time Pieces occupied a privileged space in Union Square. Marcus had passed by dozens of times, always observing the watches with disciplined admiration. He adjusted his shirt collar, ran his hand through his well-trimmed hair, and pushed open the heavy glass door.
The interior was exactly as he imagined: strategic lighting, watches displayed on black velvet. Three salespeople were talking near the central counter—one attending a well-dressed couple, another explaining details to a silver-haired gentleman, the third, a young man in an impeccable suit, glanced at Marcus briefly before returning his attention to his phone.
Marcus waited patiently, watching as other customers were offered champagne while they tried on watches. Five minutes passed, then ten. None of the salespeople approached him. Determined not to be intimidated, Marcus walked to the showcase where the Submariner was displayed. When he looked up, he saw a man of about sixty, perfectly combed hair and a tailored suit, watching him with an expression of suspicion.
“May I help you?” the man asked, his tone more of an interrogation than a genuine offer of assistance.
“Good morning,” Marcus replied politely. “I’m interested in seeing this Submariner up close, please.”
The man—Richard Bennett, the store owner—made no movement toward the showcase. Instead, his eyes scanned Marcus from head to toe, evaluating his appearance.
“That particular model costs $12,500,” Richard said, as if testing Marcus’s reaction.
“Yes, I’m aware,” Marcus replied. “That’s exactly the one I’m interested in.”
With visible hesitation, Richard finally opened the showcase and removed the watch.
“I’ve been observing this model for some time,” Marcus commented. “The precision of the movement, the historical heritage—it’s a truly exceptional piece.”
Richard didn’t respond, maintaining a silence that filled the space with tension. Instead of offering more information about the watch, he asked in a probing tone, “And how do you intend to pay for this today?”
Marcus realized he hadn’t been offered a seat, water, or champagne—courtesies clearly extended to other customers.
“Bank transfer,” he responded calmly, though he felt the first pulse of indignation.
“I see,” Richard tilted his head. “Would it be possible to see some proof of funds, just as a precaution? These are high-value items.”
Marcus discreetly glanced at the couple across the store, who were trying on several models without being asked for financial proof.
“Of course,” Marcus said, maintaining his dignity despite growing embarrassment. He took his bank statement from his pocket and placed it on the counter. Richard examined the document with barely disguised skepticism.
Meanwhile, Marcus noticed the young salesperson making a subtle gesture to the security guard, who began to approach casually. The atmosphere in the store had completely changed. Other customers were casting curious glances, some whispering among themselves.
“You know,” Richard continued, returning the statement with a dismissive gesture, “this particular model has a waiting list. Perhaps we could show you some more accessible alternatives.”
The implication was crystal clear. Marcus took a deep breath.
“Mr. Bennett,” Marcus said, having noticed the name on the badge, “I’m here specifically for this model, for which I’ve saved for three years. I have the necessary funds, as you can verify from the statement. I’d like to know why I’m being treated differently from the other customers present.”
The direct confrontation, though polite, seemed to destabilize Richard. His eyes narrowed, and a redness appeared on his neck.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied dryly. “We’re just following standard security protocols.”
“Protocols that seem to apply selectively,” Marcus observed, keeping his voice calm but firm.
Richard collected the watch from the tray with abrupt movements.
“Perhaps it would be better if you returned another day,” he finally said. “Today we’re particularly busy, and I believe your presence is making our other customers uncomfortable.”
The words hit Marcus like a slap.
“I perfectly understand what’s happening here,” Marcus said, his voice betraying a slight tremor. “And I want you to know that you’re making a serious error in judgment.”
Richard crossed his arms.
“If you don’t leave voluntarily, I’ll have to ask our security guard to escort you to the exit.”
Marcus kept his head high as he walked toward the door. The fresh air of San Francisco hit his face in stark contrast to the suffocating environment he had just left. He breathed deeply, trying to recover his composure.
It was then that he heard a familiar voice calling his name.
“Marcus! Hey, Marcus!”
Turning around, Marcus found himself facing Patrick Mahomes, walking toward him, wearing dark glasses and a discreet cap.
“Patrick, what are you doing here? I thought you were on a retreat with your family,” Marcus asked, genuinely surprised.
“Last-minute change of plans,” Mahomes explained, then noticing something in Marcus’s countenance, he frowned.
“Is everything okay? You seem shaken.”
Marcus hesitated; for years, he had kept his personal life and work separate, but something in that moment broke the barrier.
“Actually, no,” Marcus admitted, pointing discreetly at the store. “I just had a rather unpleasant experience in there.”
In a few words, Marcus recounted the discriminatory treatment he had received. As he spoke, he noticed Mahomes’s expression harden.
“That’s not right,” Mahomes said with quiet determination. “Let’s go back in there.”
“It’s not necessary, Patrick—” Marcus protested.
“That’s exactly why we need to go back,” Mahomes interrupted, his seriousness leaving no room for argument. “Nobody should get used to this.”
The doors of Prestige Time Pieces opened again. Richard Bennett was still at the counter. When he looked up and saw Marcus returning, his initial irritation froze when he recognized who was accompanying him. The store fell silent; customers stared, mouths agape at the presence of the NFL superstar.
“Good morning,” greeted Mahomes, his politeness contrasting with the firmness in his eyes. “You must be the owner of this establishment.”
Richard seemed to have momentarily lost the ability to speak, his face oscillating between shock and dread as he connected the dots between Marcus and Mahomes.
“Yes, I’m Richard Bennett,” he finally managed to say. “It’s an incredible honor to receive you in our humble store, Mr. Mahomes.”
Mahomes briefly shook the offered hand, but his countenance remained serious.
“I’d like to formally introduce you to someone who apparently wasn’t properly recognized here today,” he said, placing a hand on Marcus’s shoulder.
“This is Marcus Johnson, my personal driver for four years—and more importantly, a person I fully trust.”
Richard’s face visibly paled.
“Marcus told me about the experience he had here this morning,” Mahomes continued. “I must say I’m deeply disappointed with the treatment he received.”
“There was a terrible misunderstanding,” stuttered Richard. “We never—I would never—”
“Marcus came here today to buy a watch he has admired for years,” Mahomes cut in. “He saved for a long time and deserves to be treated with the same respect and dignity as any other customer.”
Richard ran his hand through his hair, visibly shaken.
“Absolutely, Mr. Mahomes. It was a terrible error in judgment on my part. Mr. Johnson,” he turned to Marcus, “I offer my most sincere apologies for the inadequate treatment.”
Where there had been suspicion and disdain, now there was an almost surreal atmosphere of exaggerated service. The young salesperson quickly brought two glasses of champagne and the carefully arranged watch. Marcus put the Submariner on his wrist, feeling its satisfying weight, admiring the precision of the finish.
“It’s perfect,” he said, allowing himself a moment of genuine appreciation despite the circumstances.
“Absolutely magnificent on your wrist, Mr. Johnson,” agreed Richard. “And of course, we’ll offer a special discount as a gesture of our most sincere—”
“No special discount will be necessary,” Marcus calmly interrupted. “Just the fair price that would be offered to any customer.”
The transaction was completed with surprising efficiency. When they finally left the store, the feeling was bittersweet: the dream of years had been realized, but the taste of humiliation still remained.
In the days that followed, a store client had partially recorded the scene, and the video spread quickly across the internet. Prestige Time Pieces found itself at the center of a public relations storm. Richard quickly issued a public apology, but the damage to the reputation was already done.
A week after the incident, Marcus received an unexpected call.
“Mr. Johnson, this is Richard Bennett. I’d like to know if you could grant me a private conversation.”
They met at a small café on the Embarcadero. Richard seemed to have aged years in just one week.
“Thank you for coming,” Richard said when Marcus sat down. “In the last few days, I’ve been thinking a lot. I can’t escape the uncomfortable truth: I treated you that way because of the color of your skin.”
The admission hung between them, frank and irrefutable.
“The hardest part was admitting to myself that it wasn’t an isolated incident,” Richard went on. “It was the result of prejudices I’ve carried for decades.”
“Recognition is the first step,” Marcus said. “But what do you intend to do about it?”
“I’m closing the store for two weeks. Everyone will participate in a training program against racial prejudice,” Richard explained. “But I realize that’s just the beginning. I’d like you to help me promote real changes—not just in my store, but potentially in the luxury sector as a whole.”
“Why would I do that?” Marcus asked directly. “Why would I help someone who publicly humiliated me?”
“Because you’re the kind of man who values systemic change above personal revenge. And because honestly, I can’t do this alone.”
In the weeks that followed, an unlikely partnership began to take shape. Richard closed the store for a complete reformulation of policies and procedures. Marcus began to act as a consultant, identifying subtle discriminatory practices normalized in the luxury trade.
Three months after the original incident, Marcus and Richard organized an event: “Conversations on Inclusion in the Luxury Market.” The panel featured diversity experts, industry representatives, and Patrick Mahomes as a special guest.
“When I was invited to this event, I confess I hesitated,” Mahomes admitted during his speech. “But then I saw the genuine work that Marcus and Richard have done together, transforming a regrettable moment into a catalyst for real change.”
The event attracted national coverage and initiated important conversations in the sector. Prestige Time Pieces, under Marcus’s guidance, implemented an internship program for young people from underprivileged communities interested in watchmaking.
Six months after the original incident, Marcus decided to put the Rolex Submariner on his wrist for the first time since the purchase. The watch no longer carried just bitter memories; it had transformed into a symbol of something greater—a catalyst for change.
At the Chase Center later that day, Patrick Mahomes noticed the watch on Marcus’s wrist as he got into the car.
“Finally wearing the Submariner, huh?” he commented with a smile.
“I decided it was time,” Marcus replied. “Some things are too valuable to be kept stored away. You helped me transform something terrible into something important, Patrick. That’s much rarer and more precious than any Rolex.”
Marcus reflected on the unexpected journey of the past few months. The watch on his wrist now marked not just the hours, but also the rhythm of a change that was beginning to spread—a significant step toward a world where people are judged by their character, not by the color of their skin.
