So I went to this event at the Sheraton in Santa Monica tonight. You know, to get my ass out of the house and have some semblance of a social life. They had free valet parking, which was great, considering there was nowhere to park on the street. As I was standing around, mingling, I noticed that my purse was exceptionally heavy. Turned out I had a couple of rolls of quarters in it from the bank.
So I went to the valet to put the quarters in my car. I follwed the nice valet man over to my car, which was deep in the garage, then started heading back out of the parking garage. A guy in a truck careened around a corner toward the exit, so I walked between cars, instead of in the driveway, so that I would be safe.
I’m not sure what took the truck so long, but as I was coming out of the garage, that truck was approaching from behind, on the right hand side. So I walked on the left hand side. Then another valet came zooming straight at me (literally) in a car. I felt trapped. I yelled and waved my hands around. The valet didn’t stop.
I quickly jumped to my right and maneuvered my way between the truck and the car. When the car came to a halt, the valet opened the door and didn’t even look at me. He just got out of the car and ran back to the hotel entrance.
Clearly the guy was in a rush. But seriously, landing someone in a hospital can take a whole lot more time than slowing down for a minute and letting that person exit the garage safely. As it turned out, the jolt of fear plus the jerky motions of jumping out of the way set off a bad pain episode in my left ankle, making it hard for me to stand at the party. The pain has only gotten worse over the past couple of hours, making it challenging to walk.
I’ll do some dance before I go to sleep and send it healing energy. But seriously, often it just doesn’t seem worth the bother to leave the sanctuary of my home.