Why Valets Suck, Part I

I’m distrustful of vehicle valets. I find it difficult to ensure any responsibility with someone so eager to abscond with my keys and my car in exchange for a ticket. That sounds like a terrible deal unless the ticket has winning lottery numbers.

I was pulling into one of my favorite local chicken joints, Zankou Chicken, when one of my Armenian brethren was not only directing where I should and shouldn’t park (like I can’t read the damn signs) but was eager to get me to park in a tandem spot so I could give him my keys.

No dice.

There’s a spot right to my left that’s perfectly available, non-handicapped, and labeled for the chicken joint. I politely asked him, “can I park here?” even though I damn well knew I was going to wrench my car in there whether he liked it or not. He ignored me. Twice.

He kept gesturing me towards the tandem spot and then commanding me to park there.

At that point I transitioned from “no” to “hell no” to “go and fuck yourself with something sandpapery, you sweaty fuck”.

I finally bellowed at the top of my lungs, “CAN I PARK HERE, OR NOT?”

He relented. I pulled my car in, parked, and watched him glare as I walked by.

I don’t need to give my keys away to someone when I’m literally eating 8 feet away from them. The last thing I need is his garlic-scented excretions left in my seat as he unceremoniously cranks my two-door into a yellow pole, then points to a “we are not liable” sign.

Valets belong in a very special circle of hell, in-between “thieves” and “redistributionist thieves”. Their purpose to society has long outlived their continued presence, and unless it’s a building with literally zero parking save for a 6×3 area where the door is, they should be made scarce.

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