I can tell this story now, because the statute of
limitations has probably expired. Approximately a thousand years ago, when I
was in college, I got a temporary job working as a car valet (pronounced: “valet”)
at a very fancy oceanside hotel near Pismo Beach, CA. One of the regular guys
hurt his foot somehow and was unable to put in the hustle it takes to be a
fancy valet, so my roommate got me hired on to fill in for a month.
It was a great job for a college kid, because the wealthy
people who wanted their cars parked almost always recognized that you were a
pathetic, starving college student and tipped well out of pity.
The valets were almost always the last to leave for the
night because the hotel had a nightclub attached, and we stuck around to park
and retrieve cars after last call. Two late-night incidents occurred while I
worked there that highlighted for me the fact that not everyone is always
qualified for their job.
We valets rarely went inside the hotel, but one night when I
was the only valet left, the fire alarm went off around one in the morning. I
was all alone out on the front driveway, and not sure what to do, so I wandered
into the lobby to ask a desk clerk what was going on. That was a mistake. There
were no visible desk clerks, bellhops, managers, assistant managers,
custodians, concierges, or any other type of hotel employee within a
sixteen-block radius of the hotel lobby, except me.
I found myself in the middle of a vast expanse of marble
floor, surrounded by an angry, pajama- and bathrobe-wearing mob, demanding
answers, of which, I had less than none. I made the mistake of smiling to
myself as I truly grasped how ridiculous it was that these people thought I was
in charge, which angered a businessman in boxer shorts. I received a
pointy-fingered tirade about how none of this was funny at all. I had to agree
with him, but somehow, “I’m sorry, I’m just the valet. This is only the second
time I’ve even been inside the hotel,” didn’t ease his frustration.
Fortunately, there was no actual fire, and we got out of it
without a fancy riot. I dodged a bullet on my other late-night adventure as well,
thank God.
Later that month, one of the front desk staff called me in
and told me the shuttle bus driver had gone home for the night, but there were
four guests up the hill at F. McLintock’s Saloon that just called for a ride
back to the hotel. She gave me the keys to the bus and told me to go get them.
Sure…
I had never driven the shuttle bus before, but how hard
could it be? It’s just a big car with lots of seats, right? Off I went up the
hill in the dark of night to retrieve my passengers, as a light fog rolled in
off the ocean. I had a little wait in the parking lot for all four of them to
muster to the bus, since it appeared they had become quite familiar with the
offerings from the bar during their dining experience. When my two slightly
toasted couples were on board, we set off back down the hill in a much heavier
fog than I had experienced on the way up.
Now, college kids aren’t exactly known for their amazing
decision-making skills, or conservative risk assessment, or extreme caution
behind the wheel, but the one thing they do have is fantastic reflexes. That’s
why when the hard ninety-degree left turn snuck up on me in the fog while I was
busy driving far too fast for the road and weather conditions, I was able to
keep the giant shuttle bus on the road. An unfortunate byproduct of my deft maneuvering
however, was throwing one of the ladies across the bus into the opposite row of
seats, and flinging the other lady out of her seat and literally rolling her
down the aisle of the shuttle bus in her fancy cocktail dress.
One of the guys (presumably the least drunk of the four) had
a few constructive comments regarding my driving style, but fortunately the
other three were just howling with laughter, including the nice woman that I
had just transformed into a well-dressed human pinball.
I drove much, much slower the rest of the way back to the
hotel and apologized profusely to the four hotel guests as they exited my
shuttle bus carnival ride. Thankfully, no one was injured, presumably from
being very loose and relaxed during all the flinging. (A big thank you to the
F. McLintock’s bartenders and staff!) And thankfully for my employment status,
I never heard another word about it.
So, remember, when you’re out there this holiday shopping
season, that young (or old) clerk who has no idea how to give you the discount
shown on the tag is not incompetent. They’re just not properly trained. And if
they are a college student, remember to have some patience. They have the
mental capacity of broccoli.
And in this holiday travel season, if your shuttle bus
driver looks to be nineteen or twenty years old, catch the next bus.
See you soon,
-Smidge
Copyright © 2019 Marc Schmatjen
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