Entry #42. The Valet

So I’m working in a valet and it sucks… At least most of the time. Usually some rich people come to me and just toss me their car keys and two bucks so that I can go park their fancy expensive cars, and it really pisses me off. Except for when I actually get in the car. It’s then that I have fun. Usually I take their car to the parking spot, and then I go crazy. I rummage through their glove boxes and compartments and I look around in their door pockets. I’ve found everything. I look at pictures of their kids and their parents and other family members. I find notes, reminders, to-do lists stashed away in the car. Sometimes I’ll even find the occasional used condom that has been stashed away in a napkin somewhere, probably the left-over evidence of a cheating scandal. Sometimes I’ll find hairs that have been shed in the backseat, next to some scratch-marks along the fine leather interior, and perhaps some sprinkled blood-drops, dried to a brown crust that chips off of the seats. Sometimes I find other stains that I don’t want to know about. If I’m lucky, the person whose car I’m parking leaves their cell phone in the car, and I get to rummage through that. I find the best stuff in the cell phones: the nude photos in the saved pictures, the quick thirty-second clip of a one night stand or a drunk college kid yelling in the saved videos, and the text messages from the wife telling the husband to pick up the groceries, and from the husband’s mistress telling him to stop by her house on the way home. I love thinking that I could destroy anyone of these people’s lives if I want. All these people coming to eat at this five-star restaurant where I work. All these rich people who are so pretty on the outside with their glam and shimmering jewelry, but so ugly on the inside with their grimy lives and dirty secrets. But rather than destroy their lives, I usually just soak up the little bits of their lives that I can, and I allow them to go eat their unsuspectingly tainted “five-star” food.