Before I got to Duke, I had never driven an actual car. In fact, the only time I had ever even ridden in one was on my 12th birthday when Uncle Seymour drove me into the city to buy my first pair of shoes. The car he drove had one horsepower. and that horse had three legs. Still, you'd be surprised how fast Skippy could get going with a little help from a tailwind.
I always wanted to learn how to drive, so I jumped at the opportunity when I saw the sign "Now Hiring Valet Parking Assistants" hanging outside the Washington Duke Inn. During the interview, I managed to avoid revealing my lack of qualifications. When asked what experience I had working with automobiles, I mentioned that I had spent several years working for my dad who was a mechanic-which is true.
What I failed to mention was that in Portage County, Ohio, a mechanic is another word for a guy who spends the majority of his day with his hand up a horse's ass.
A couple hours before my first night on the job it hit me that I was in over my head. What was I thinking? This had to be the dumbest thing I had ever done (using my roommate's curry-flavored Listerine before a semiformal was a close second). I didn't even know how to start a car, let alone park one. Nevertheless, something deep down was telling me that this was my chance to finally learn how to drive. I decided to follow my heart.
Standing at my post, waiting for the first patron to roll up, I started to shake out of nervousness. From the distance I could see a yellow behemoth of a car-a Hummer-drive into the hotel parking lot. It stopped right in front of me. The door opened, and a bald man with a long handlebar mustache got out and tossed me the keys.
"Keep her safe," he said as he handed me a $10 bill and delivered a swift slap to my rear end. My only response was a stern nod of confirmation.
As I took the driver's seat, I was completely out of my element. Numbers, dials and knobs everywhere. If I could just get it started, maybe it would drive itself. Strapped to the inside of my jacket was my laptop. I pulled it out, opened up Google and searched "how to start a Hummer."
The screen started to fill with pop-ups uncontrollably-none of which were even remotely close to what I was looking for. Out of disgust, I wanted to slam the laptop shut.
But for some reason, I couldn't look away. After about 20 minutes of browsing the various websites, there was suddenly a pounding on the driver's side window. The bald guy was back, and he did not look happy.
As he was screaming profanities and gesturing for me to open the door, my mind started racing. What should I do? What could I do? There was really only one option. I rolled down the window, looked the bald guy square in the eye and dropped him like a bad habit.
I didn't punch him hard enough, however, because he got back up and tried to jump into the car. I quickly rolled up the window so that his upper torso got stuck inside the car and his legs were stuck outside, flailing around violently.
Then out of complete instinct from what I'd seen in the movies, I jammed the key into the ignition, pulled back on the shifter and gave it some gas. We started flying around the parking lot in reverse, with the bald man kicking people in the face as we drove by.
At the time, taking the valet job seemed liked it would be something way out of my league. However, if I had let myself be convinced that I couldn't handle it, things would not have worked out as well as they had.
You see, while I was fired on the spot after I eventually ran the Hummer onto the golf course and into a lake off of the 12th tee, the bald guy with the Hummer had tipped me in advance and never bothered to ask for his money back. It was the easiest $10 I'd made since the time I helped a nice Columbian man return a lost brief case to his nephew at RDU.
Nick Alexander is a Pratt sophomore. His column runs every other Tuesday.
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