But first, let me give you some history ’bout this alley n me.
I’ve spent the past year driving through the alley in my car. I know all the potholes and hobos. One time I got free Mexican food from one of my delivery runs, and instead of mowing it myself, I gave it to this hobo I had seen a bunch of times, huddled behind one of the dumpsters in this alley.
I approached him at a wide radius, “Hey — hello? Do you want some Mexican food?” I held up a large brown paper bag that was showing grease stains from the complimentary tortilla chips.
Hobo: “Do you have any change?”
Me: “…No. Just Mexican food. Do you want it?” He waved me over.
Hobo: “You don’t have like 2 bucks or something you could give me?”
Me: WHAAAA???? I have the worst luck with hungry, hungry hobos who put crack habits before nutrition. “Not today, buddy. Here you go.”
We made the handoff, and as much as he wanted that cash, he quickly dug into the quesadillas without giving me a second thought. OH WELL. It’s not like I’m gonna stand there and be all, “Now name one thing you’re grateful for today! You can say QUESADILLAS if you want!” — I would like to leave with my face in tact.
The alley is also where I briefly park when I’m picking up delivery orders at Xian – the Chinese place. There was once a fish head lying eye-up on the asphalt, but it just seems natural behind a Chinese restaurant. Even in swanky Beverly Hills.
The parking situation is always dicey. Fancy cars are parked in like sardines, and Hummers overwhelm what could have been two spots. Often, I park along a red curb that would guarantee me a sweet ticket if anyone saw me. I’m in and out so fast, it usually doesn’t matter.
On this particular evening, I was driving to Xian for my first delivery of the night. Xian is nestled beside an adorable shop called Marimekko. They create their own fabrics and patterns for clothing and housewares, and have been referred to as “that f****** pillow store” by the neighborhood bartenders.
I love their designs. They look so happy! I even pulled remnant fabric out of their trash, washed it — come on, and sewed a pillow case out of it.
I waited a hot minute before a man walked out to his Porsche and pulled out of a spot. He had been double parked, but I figured — what the heck. I’m in and out in less than 10 minutes! I took his place and threw my company “Sorry for the inconvenience! Thank you for your understanding! I’m a delivery person!” sign on my dash. We do this all over town.
Will Arnett and one of his kids, walked by with some Chinese take-out. We smiled and did the LA “Who are you” eyes. HA! He sure came up empty on that one!
Inside Xian, I spoke with my boss on the phone and re-checked the order to make sure everything was in the bag. In the midst of this conversation, the bartender says “You gotta move your car. That crazy lady’s outside.”
I immediately got off the phone with my boss, mid-order-checking, and said “Oh! Ok! Thank you!”
I didn’t know what lady I was going to find waiting for me, so I jogged outside with a bubbly, killemwithkindness “Hiiiiii!!!!!! I’m so sor—” That’s all I was able to get out. She was already mentally disturbed about me.
She was a rail-thin, tiny, red-haired lady, with mean age lines all over her face. She’s that kind of person that maybe should drink a little of the Beverly Hills Kool-Aid. (– *It’s Botox.) She was standing with a mid-20s gay man, who was pacing around the parking lot. Both worked at Marimekko, which I was about to find out.
Imagine the shrillest, most horrible voice in the world, shaking with rage.
Her: “HHHHHHHOW COULD YOU ——- DOOOOO SOMETHING LIKE THIS!!! —– IT’S —– IT’SSSSS JUST NOT NICE.” I felt like a very large Kindergartener.
Me: “I’m so sorry—” I kept repeating because I’m from Pennsylvania where we apologize and thank people too much, while trying to figure out the situation.
At this point, the lady circled around the car, and - I ASSUME TURNED BACK INTO A BAT AND FLEW AWAY - because I never saw her again, leaving the rest up to Angry Entitled Gay Employee. I don’t wanna say that he’s gay, because I don’t want this to be that kind of thing, but he was so super gay. And real mad.
AEGE: “– THIS IS ABSOLUTELY INAPPROPRIATE. YOU PEOPLE SHOULD NOT PARK HERE. UNACCEPTABLE. THIS IS OUR PROPERTY.” He waved his hands over the “Marimekko Parking” sign and glided around to showcase four open spots that were not there earlier. “YOU COULD HAVE PARKED HERE, WHERE YOU WOULDN’T BLOCK ANYONE!”
Me: “Those spots weren’t there when I parked. Obviously, I —” What am I, an idiot?
AEGE: “– IT’S JUST UNACCEPTABLE. YOU NEED TO PARK OUT ON THE STREET OR SOMEWHERE ELSE. THIS CANNOT HAPPEN AGAIN!”
Lemme just take this time to tell you how impossible it is to “park on the street or somewhere else” at dinner time on restaurant row in Beverly Hills, where street parking is crazy expensive — IF the valet people haven’t blocked off the entire street for their own use (read: charging people to park their cars where they could totally park it, themselves.)
I was starting to get hot. I tried to be nice, buddy. Nobody puts Baby in a corner.
He stalked off to his car, and I walked back to mine with a wave and said “YEP. THANKS FOR THE LECTURE” and got in.
Immediately AEGE whipped around and came walking toward me. My mind was racing. Are we gonna fight?? Like, with fists?? ——- I would so WIN! And not because he’s gay. BECAUSE I TAKE BOXING CLASSES, BITCH.
I lowered my window. Let’s do this.
AEGE: “– IT WAS NOT A LECTURE. YOU’RE JUST TRYING TO DO YOUR JOB, SUPPOSEDLY,” he put air quotes around all of that, “BUT IF THIS HAPPENS AGAIN, WE WILL IMPOUND YOU IMMEDIATELY. YOU CAN BE SURE OF THAT.”
And with that, I hit maximum capacity.
My mind was a cool, babbling brook.
My eyes, glistening hazel marbles.
My body, at peace with all that surrounded me.
“FUCK YOU.” To his face.
(GASP!) OMG I JUST SAID FUCK YOU TO THIS GUY! I DON’T EVEN KNOW HIM! (DOUBLE GASP!) — I FINALLY FEEL LIKE A WOMAN!
I waited to see what would happen.
He gave up and got in his car.
OMG OMG OMG OMG…
I reparked my car, got out, and thought about weaving through the next row of parked cars, to sneak back into the restaurant, unseen.
But no. I wanted him to see that this Beeyatch was not afraid. I slammed the door of my car, hardly disturbing the months of dirt upon it, and stomped right past his car window. I wanted him to get a greaaaaaat, big ole look at my ass.
So he can kiss it.