Cringe
I don’t really get the concept of valet parking at all, because I don’t ever want someone else to drive my car. At the LAX Hilton, where I went to the opening of a film festival last night, they make it next to impossible to find the self-parking lot, so you get suckered into a situation whence you must wait in a line to pay an exorbitant amount of money to get your car back, then wait again in a line for your car to arrive, shivering outside without your coat at the end of the night. Seriously meh. However, their main attendant wears a costume complete with top hat. Delightful.
Another plus: I met Rainn Wilson, aka Dwight Schrute of The Office, last night. Minus? The awesomeness of this was cancelled out by my out of control mouth, because I’m pretty sure he now thinks I’m his idiot-savant stalker. I could not stop talking and I definitely kept telling myself to shut up (in my head) but, sadly, not listening to myself. Truly spastacular, truly pathetic, truly threw me off my game for the rest of the night.
In sooth, I ought never meet in real life the people I truly admire, as it will be much less awkward for all parties involved. I promise to remember this for next time I am at a party and run into someone famous. So, Salman Rushdie, should we ever be in the same room, please consider this my apology for avoiding all eye contact with you. It’s not you, except it is.