Being a parking valet can really change your views on life.
I’ve been a parking valet at Marriott Hotel in Hilton Head, South Carolina for two weeks. Basically, I take peoples cars and I drive them twenty feet and park them. It’s something that literally anyone can do themselves, but you know us Americans, we need to have a guy to do everything.
Despite my disapproval of the job, it’s my job. It’s like if you hated fast food and the only job you could find was at Burger King. With no college education, it was the only job around that I could get that makes an “okay” amount of money.
When you park hundreds of cars everyday you get to know people pretty well, even if you never meet them personally.
I get a blue Ferrari with heated seats and the big cup holders: I know that he’s a rich man. I get a Ford Explorer with cheerios on the floor: I know the mom and dad are going to be up all night yelling at their devil child.
On the other hand, the rich will probably tip more and not think much of it, while the ma and pa with the devil child will probably be so preoccupied on smacking their kid after they get checked in that they don’t tip me a dang nickel.
I get behind the wheel of a car with a picture of a young woman taped to the window and a flower resting by the front window and you know this guy has got a sweet gal in his life. Or I get behind the wheel of a car with a baby seat in the back with the tag on it and you know a man and a woman are in a happy place.
After a countless number of cars that my behind has sat in the day is done. I get behind the wheel of a car where there is no picture of your girlfriend or flower; there are no cheerios on the floor or a baby seat in the back. There is the smell of vodka in the trunk and empty packs of cigarettes on the floor. I can see that this guy’s priorities are not those of the previous cars I’ve been in. This guy obviously doesn’t live a happy life, and he doesn’t care if anything happens to him. That’s when I realized that “this guy”, is me.