Parking lots are anomalies in this concrete jungle, so valet parking seems a worthy substitute, no? Driving up to the front door of an establishment with minimal walking distance involved. Everyone valets here. Bruce (who hates walking anywhere) only thinks he loves valet parking, because he hardly has to do it. I loathe it. Why?
From a germophobic point of view, the valet guys are a cesspool of disease... handling keys and steering wheels and car doors of multiple persons. Dirty.
They also generally ask if you've left any valuables. Valuables? Like besides my car and the
keys to my car that I'm leaving with you?
I also love how they feel inclined to help themselves. To the spare change occasionally left in the perfectly covered, compartmentalized slots of my vehicle. What goes through their mind?
Hmmm. What's in here? Well, don't mind if I do...Speaking of, I went out with some girlfriends a couple weekends ago. I drove and we left my car with the restaurant valet. Only later I realized the dirty badgers had stolen the orange carabiner off my key chain. I know. Trivial. But why even do it? Come on! Unprincipled snarks. I was fond of that commodious metal loop. So functional... and apparently they thought so, too.
Though I have yet to experience the same shady fortune of a friend when one valet guy crashed their car, allowed them to finish dinner, and then had a nice surprise waiting for them when they walked back out into the seemingly pleasant evening.
Lack of liability = no accountability. A dangerous predicament here in Mexico that extends far beyond the woes of valet parking, my friends. But that would be another post entirely. In any case, I have concluded that valet personnel are a shifty lot that cannot be trusted.
Today's track:
Young Folks - Peter, Bjorn and John. It has nothing to do with this post. I just dig it. The whistling makes me happy.
