Tales From The SWANK: Vol. 1 - Turned On/Turned Off

I've been on vacation the last two weeks, so my mind hasn't exactly been in valet mode. I've been thinking like a normal* person, and that ain't conducive to this here blog.
* -  Normal being relative of course, I wouldn't want anyone to think that I think of myself as a "normal" person who fits in decent society.

During said time off, though, I searched and searched for any and all writing from when I worked at a Swanky hotel in downtown San Francisco. I'm still looking, but all the partying and good times didn't erase too many memories. So, I'll write from memory because the most interesting stories from my life as a valet usually stem from the Swank.

Here we go:

At the Swank there were plenty of things to do. Plenty of nice cars to drive. Plenty of rich people to help. And if for some reason, there was nothing to do..... You could always bullshit with the doorman, a bellman, a limo driver, security guard, or fellow valet. And when you ran out of bullshit to tread, you could look at all the fine fine women walking by, into the hotel, or out of the hotel. Sorry if it sounds sexist, but this is what young men do when they have little in common or are bored to death. We look at girls.

Sorry, it's our default conversation.

"You like the new Jay-Z song?"
"No, I don't really like his style of rap."
"Oh."
"Right now, I'm really into old stuff like the Ramones and the Clash."
"Yeah, I don't know who they are."
"Well, what else you like?"
"Shit, that girl crossing the street. She's hot."
"Damn, you ain't kidding. Look at the way her butt has just enough wiggle, but no dimples."

I had some variation of this conversation multiple times a day for two years.

Anyway, you had to take in all the eye candy you could because there was a lot of ugliness out there where Union Square meets the Tenderloin. And no, I'm not talking about unattractive girls or even unattractive people in general. I'm talking about crackheads, homeless people shitting themselves, junkies begging for change, thieves looking to pick pockets or scam tourists. The type of stuff that can make your stomach turn if you aren't mentally prepared.

Even those of us who were just a hair less jaded than all the pushers in Tenderloin had to take a little time to enjoy a pretty face, an awesome rack, a perfectly shaped booty, or a hot girl covered in tattoos. You just never new what you were going to see next.

A gaggle of models checking in to the hotel one minute. And a crackhead tranny flashing the goods the next. Maybe a popular actress would ask you how to get to some fancy restaurant. And as you looked at her pretty face and tried hard not to look starstruck while you gave her directions - a grimey ass dude would walk by smelling like ass and wet towels. All of a sudden she ain't hungry and you ain't fantasizing about her inviting you up to her room after dinner because you're both trying desperately not to gag.

Sometimes the same person that turned you on turned you off. An attractive guest with a sour attitude. A beautiful singer that asked for the royal treatment, but didn't tip the room service guy, the dog walker, not even the staff in the bar after they shut the place down to the public so she could have an unscheduled "private party."

Or maybe a hot older lady would talk to you while she waited for the rest of her party to show up. Even though she was beautiful and had a great personality you wanted to get out of the conversation. Why? Because her boobs were huge, but the boob job was botched. You're dick didn't know if it should stand at attention or hang his head. Not that you minded fake tits (you were at the strip club the night before - silicone was your friend), it's just that there was too much implant and not enough skin to cover all that new boob. You could see the implant because the skin on the titties was too tight, so tight that it looked like the throbbing veins around them were supporting all the silicone. Mesmerizing, but not cool.

Sometimes the cosmos would all align just right. Some girl would come out and keep her smoker friends company. She might give you the "it's okay to talk to me" look and you'd walk over. You'd notice the tattoo on her leg and that gave you an in to a conversation. Maybe you'd find that you had tons in common and she'd tell you that you're great and that she's never met a guy that could make her laugh some many times within the first 10 minutes of meeting them. Then she'd throw you one of the nastiest curveballs ever by giving you her valet ticket and saying "can you bring up my fiancee's car? We're leaving in about fifteen minutes."

But most of the time you'd keep your mouth shut and nothing memorable would happen.

Giving Thanks

Alright peebuzz, don't be alarmed - I'm still firey and mean, but it's Thanksgiving (well it just passed a few days ago and it ain't Monday yet, so it still counts) and I want to take a break from the generally pissed off nature of this blog to , well, give thanks.

You know, people always ask me things about my job. What's the coolest car I've driven. Have I ever parked a celebrity's car. What's the worst car I've driven. What's the craziest thing I've ever seen. Stuff like that. I try to answer those questions as best I can, but the truth is I've seen a lot of shit go down in the 8 (almost 9) years I've been a valet so I don't always give the grandest response. It's really hard to come up with a good story when you're not really dwelling on one because after almost a whole decade of doing this, very few things strike me as abnormal or even memorable. And in due time I will write about the many many bizarre, infuriating, funny, fucked up, baffling, and just plain memorable experiences I've had. Especially after I find the journal I kept when I was working the graveyard shift at a swanky hotel in downtown San Francisco.

But right now because it's Thanksgiving and because something memorable did happen to me earlier this year, I can share something for the occasion.

Some time around June or July, I was running around fetching people their cars. Hopping in and out of cars, handing people their keys, and collecting my tips. During a little down time I decided to get something out of my car. That's when I realized that I didn't have my car keys. The fuckers weren't in any of my pockets, the valet podium, or the lock box where we keep all the keys. I ran to my car hoping I had just left them in the ignition after getting to work half asleep. No dice, because I did remember that I had gotten somethings out of the car earlier AND the alarm was set. Can't do that without the keys.

SHIT.

I had only parked ONE car and the keys weren't in there either. I had, however, brought several cars up to the driveway - a few were supposedly returning and most were check outs.

I spent the day searching every car that came back later for my keys. Nothing. Asked the other valets to keep an eye out. Nothing. The next day and for the next few days, I spent all my down time searching each car that was there that day for those damned keys. Nothing. I waited a few days and called all the car rental companies' lost and found in the area. Nothing.

After a couple of weeks I gave up. Maybe a week after that, I thought that maybe I should call the rental car companies one more time. I was gathering all the phone numbers I could so I could call Hertz, Alamo, and all the other lesser known companies, when the valet phone rang.

Goddamned valet phone. Almost every time the bastard rings it has trouble on the other end. But not that time. That time, there was a lady on the other end telling me that she had just found a set of keys in her car that she had never seen before. She said that she had stayed at the hotel and figured that maybe the keys fell out of one of the valets' pockets. She was worried that maybe another guest had reported a set of missing keys and wanted to get them back to who ever owned them.

I shit you not, I got that call when I was looking up all those numbers for the car rental companies!

I couldn't believe it myself. So I started to describe my keys. A set of older GM keys. Yes. Two of them look almost the same, but one has a red cover and the other a white cover. Yes. A Clifford alarm remote. Yes! A little black nub that seemingly has no use. YES!

I told her that they were the keys to my car and that I was super happy that she decided to call the hotel. She said that she would mail them to the hotel. I asked if she would like me to send her a check to cover the shipping. She said, get this, "no". I thanked her again.

A few days later my keys arrived. A few days after that she got a thank-you card and a coffee table book full of  pictures of San Francisco from S.F.'s most bangin'est valet. We are friends on the Facebook now.

Did I mention that she lives in Canada? Yes, she was willing to ship my keys internationally without monetary compensation back to my monkey ass. And it was totally my fault that they ended up in her car (I forgot to zip up my jacket pockets)!

After all the things I've seen on the job - fights, arrests, drug use, drunken behavior, racism, classism, crackheads, tranny crackheads, prostitution, psycho cabbies, and guests from hell - an act of kindness is what I will remember about 2010. Losing the keys wouldn't have been a big deal, I had some spares. No biggie. But the truth of the matter is that there are still people in this world who do go about their lives trying to do the right thing whenever they can. I deal with these people (the good people) too every day. They are the ones who keep me and the other valets from going postal everyday.

So this year, I'm thankful for lots of things. Having the good fortune to cross paths with people like Miss Lorie M. is one of them. Thank you for reminding this curmudgeony bastard that decent people still exist. Happy Thanksgiving.

Valet On The Runs

Last night at the job I had some left over curry for lunch. No, nothing happened last night. Well, nothing that involved the curry. Today, however is a different story. Fortunately for everyone who parked at the garage today, it's my day off. But all this rushing to the baffroom has reminded me of all the times I've had to go MIA for a few minutes on the job.

No, I'm not at the point where I need Depends. But working a solo shift for 8 hours can present some challenges when nature calls. And when that motherfucker calls (always at the wrong time) you better answer promptly because nobody's gonna give you a tip after blowing a shit bubble in their car.

There's been times when I've driven a car down to the garage and jumped out of the car before it came to a complete stop, ran to the Crapper (did you know the man who supposedly invented the toilet was named John Crapper?) and spewed a stinky load before my ass hit the toilet seat. Or times when I'll be giving a guest directions to Golden Gate Bridge while trying to hold my guts in only to have my stomach let out an unholy gurgle - a kind of inner bowel fart.

There's times when the coast appears to be clear, so you run and do your business. Time is money, so you don't wanna spend too much time on the throne, so you only take the time you need - no reading the comics. Even if you keep it under 5 minutes, sometimes by the time you get back to the valet stand a crowd of people who need their cars has formed. Most of the time they don't trip.

But every now and then, you get a guest or even a manager (some guests will ask the entire hotel staff to look for you if they have to wait at the valet stand for more than 8 seconds) that asks too many questions. "What took you so long?"

"I had trouble parking the last car."

Of course they look at you like you're still full of shit because you don't have keys in your hand or they saw you come from the direction of the employee bathroom. If paying rent and bills didn't have me by the balls, I'd say "the truth is, sir, I had to unload the burrito I had for lunch yesterday. I'm sure you'd rather have me do my thing in the bathroom for a few minutes than to leave a heaping pile of caca-duke in your Lexus. Or the rotten stench of the ghost of lunchtime past lingering in your upholstery. Now gimme your claim ticket so I can finish wiping."

But Ricky needs to earn a living, so I just apologize for making them wait and get their car as fast as I can. Like I said, most of the time people are cool, but some people give you an attitude or a dirty look. But what can you do?

So, the next time you go to the valet stand and the valet ain't there - give him or her a couple of minutes (not seconds) before you send a search party. And if he or she comes back looking a little embarrassed, just think of how much more embarrassed they'd be and how much worse the situation would be if  they shit themselves in your car because you couldn't wait an extra 5-10 minutes.

Remember, we're here to help you out and in the mean time earn them tips. Making you wait or doing things to deliberately piss you off doesn't help our cause. So chill, we got you.

It's More Expensive Than New York!!!!

"It's more expensive than New York!"

I've been told this many times about our nightly charge. It could be true, maybe. In 1972. Or in upstate New York. Somewhere outside of Albany I bet. But Manhattan?! GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!!!

Shit, the last time I went to NYC was November of '09 (2009 - I ain't that old ya bitches!) and a public lot was just north of $35 for a couple of hours. I can only imagine what the hotel overnight charge for parking is over there. Smell me?

Look, I'm not saying $43 a night (plus tax) isn't expensive. I completely agree that it's insane. Trust me when I say that we the valets hate it even more than you do as a consumer. Why? Because we have to hear it from every other guest. "$43?!?!?!" "Are you out of your mind?!" "That's robbery!" "Why don't you just hold a gun to my head?!"

Fool, if we could hold a gun to your head..... We'd take a lot more than $43. But we ain't criminal minded. That's why we work for a living and put up with you, your attitude, your lack of common sense, your grimey ass car, your hilarious attempts to get over on paying your room and/or parking bill, and also your bald face lies about cheaper parking in New York.

Look, all I'm saying is that I have a cousin in Albuquerque (Yeah, New Mexico) who also works in a hotel. Cuzzo told me recently that THEY charge for parking. Sure it's only $10 a night, BUT IT'S FUCKING ALBUQUERQUE!!!!!!! Imagine what they charge in places where people actually want to go. Places like, I don't know, San Francisco or New York.

Go ahead. Give it a thought. Don't be shy. No, no keep in mind that SF and NYC have a ridiculous amount of population density. What? Crap, there you go getting all "spread the wealth" pseudo communist on me. No, parking doesn't HAVE to be free. Hhhhmmmm, care to take the same approach with health care? No? Didn't think so - that's why you and your type 2 diabetes having ass drives a brand new Hummer when you can't afford health insurance. Smart choice. But back to the subject at hand.

Keep in mind the population density thing AND the fact that we are in a free market capitalist economy. Makes your head hurt, doesn't it? What? No, free parking at Fisherman's Wharf and downtown died long ago.  On the street? Metered parking only. 7am to 7pm. One hour limit. A quarter gets you 5 minutes. Yeah, no the fine for not feeding the meter is $51. Sorry. But hey, there's a place around the corner that charges $30 a night, but they don't lock the gates. It's an open air lot. And I don't think they have an attendant OR a security guard.

Go ahead, I don't mind if you go see for yourself. I'm serious, that's the cheapest I've seen around here. Cool, I'll see you in 10 minutes. Hurry up though, I'm almost out of spaces.