Forgot to tell you what happened to me the other day. I had a meeting over at a big movie studio. I drove over and they made me park in one of those "double-deep" spaces where another car will likely park behind yours. The driver of that other car is supposed to leave his or her keys with the attendant because you can't get your car out until they move that one.
Went in, had the meeting, came out…and there, parked right behind my auto was a gleaming, silver top-o'-the-line Mercedes. I waved to the attendant and gestured that he needed to move it so I could drive my much less impressive vehicle home. Nervous and apologetic, the gent came up to me and said he was sorry but he couldn't do that. The driver had not left the key. Then he added, "I noticed it and started to run after him to get the key but then I saw who it was."
Sensing a cue, I asked, "Who was it?"
"I shouldn't tell you," the parking lot guy said. "Someone very important." Another attendant who'd wandered over to join the conversation added, "Very big movie star."
"But you won't tell me the name," I said.
"We shouldn't tell," the second attendant said. And I realized they weren't sure why but they figured I might do something in reprisal that would get that Very Big Movie Star riled and cause them to be fired. Like I might run upstairs, find out where he was and barge into his meeting. Or worse, I might post his name on my blog.
I pulled out my ignition key, pointed it at the Mercedes and said, "I really need to get somewhere. Tell me whose car this is or I'll key my initials into the side of it." The attendants went so pale that I quickly pocketed the key and assured them, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."
We waited about twenty minutes but the V.B.M.S. did not return. They moved out the cars on either side of mine and one of the attendants kept asking me if I thought I could somehow swing my car out from there…without, of course, damaging the Mercedes. I had about three inches between my rear license plate and his front plate so I said no. I'm not that skilled a driver. Finally, one of the younger parking lot guys said, "I think I can do it."
So we let him get into my car and it was then about ten minutes of five people guiding him and yelling, "Back another inch" and "turn the wheels to the left" and "back another half-inch" and so on. All through it, the head parking attendant guy was ashen with fear that the Mercedes might get nicked but it didn't. The kid defied all laws of Physics and got my car outta there without a mar on either. I gave him a big tip and, so everyone could hear it, told him he was not to share it with anyone else, especially the guy who let the Very Big Movie Star get away without leaving his key.
While the hero was extricating my vehicle, I heard one of the other attendants mention the name of a Very Big Movie Star and I will forever assume that was the owner of the Mercedes. Since I don't have first-hand proof though, and don't want to get the parking lot guys in trouble, I won't mention that name here. But if it was indeed him, I think I understand a little more. If I were a lowly-paid studio parking attendant, liable to get yelled-upon or dismissed for not being properly deferential to the super-important, I'm not sure I'd have chased after this person and demanded his keys. Or at least, of the two, I would have been a lot less worried about pissing off Mark Evanier…