Our office shares a drive with a prominent Buckhead hotel. This drive is the haunt of that human debris known as the Valet.  While returning from lunch, one sprang out of the bushes adjacent to OUR building like a startled rodent.  This caused me to have to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting him. Seeing as I was going under 20mph, this should let you know just how close he leapt into the path of a moving vehicle.  I understand that people get distracted at their work (I use the term work loosely to define what Valets do) but instead of being relieved at not joining the company of several insects in my vehicle’s grill, said Valet turned and told me to “Fuck Off”.

Now I don’t particularly like being told to “Fuck Off” on those occasions when I’ve done something to deserve that reaction, let alone one when I did nothing more than apply the necessary emergency action to avoid rolling over an inattentive, jaywalking boil on the bottom of parking lots.  Needless to say, I felt compelled to ask the otherwise unemployable individual if he chose to be a Valet instead of a septic tank cleaner because of the perk of getting to wear those unflattering shorts.  This only elicited a confused scowl so I added a suggestion to run along, but not in traffic in the future.

I think I will make a habit of pulling into the Valet lane and idling for long periods of time before “changing my mind” from now on.  Perhaps rolling down the window and making lengthy inquiries in fictitious languages before doing so.