Ryan Walter has valeted off and on for approximately waaaaaay too long. During that time he amassed quite a few enjoyable stories. Today he shares this one with us.
I’ve valeted for literally eons. Most recently at the W hotel in Hollywood. (Pictured above)… Seriously. Eons. Literally eons of parking cars. I literally have NO IDEA what “literally” OR “eons” means.
I was working a Sunday morning shift. On Sunday mornings we would typically see a lot of world class walks of shame starting at about 6am. Both girls and guys. Partiers leaving after a night of club to club to club, to random person’s hotel room with drugs in it, to our valet window to try to act semi sober, retrieve their car, and complain about the $38.50 overnight charge.
At about 6am on this Sunday morning as the sun was just coming up, a big strong African American guy in a miniskirt with a bangin’ body and whore makeup came to the window with “her” ticket, name and room number retrieved her car with no tip but a “thanks honey”.
It was a big Ford construction truck which seemed humorously fitting. It gave us all a few minutes of entertainment as we hypothesized about her daytime life as a construction worker and instantly began to reminisce about the time the big transvestite drove away in her construction truck. We relayed the story to each valet coming to work over the next hour by saying things like:
“Hey, you missed the transvestite with the big truck.”
But this is Hollywood, and I’ve seen people fucking in trash cans and random goats walking down the street, so it wasn’t THAT strange.
Anyway, two hours later at about 8am a man came to the window without his valet ticket, which is pretty common. So we began searching for his keys for 10 minutes as he became agitated and outwardly questioning and doubtful of our capabilities as valets, while we were all thinking “I can’t wait to find this guy’s car and then fart in it when I drive it up.” As we gathered more information on his vehicle, checked his ID, and confirmed everything with the front desk, we realized that we had handed those keys out to the transvestite. Then we realized the transvestite actually WASN’T a construction worker who moonlighted as a transvestite.
Then we felt bad about wanting to fart in his car. But still not that bad. It was time to break the news. We reluctantly informed the already agitated man that someone else had somehow picked up his car and his car had been stolen. He flipped out and yelled at us about how he had to be somewhere 10 minutes ago, and that he had $3,000 dollars worth of tools in that truck and that we need to call the police. We apologized and told him we’d file a report and everything would be taken care of through insurance. Our manager called the police to file a report and gave them a detailed description of the truck and the transvestite while our cashier tried to calm the man down as best she could and try to figure everything out.
“How the fuck did you just give away my car?!” the guy said.
“Well, the lady, er, guy, had your valet ticket, sir,” I replied.
“What do you mean lady, er, guy?,” he said.
“Well, it was a transvestite.”
Suddenly the man froze, and beads of cold sweat instantly appeared on his forehead.
The man immediately went into blank soduku puzzle stare then said “Well who was that? Why did they have my ticket?”
As he and the cashier were talking, my manager told the cashier to have him come inside to give a report to the cops who were on the phone. His response was “For what?” Which was met with an obvious answer, to which he responded “You know what I don’t have time to deal with all of this right now.”
“You don’t have time to deal with this? Your car was just stolen,” my manager said.
“You know what? It’s not a big deal,” the guy replied nervously.
“It’s not a big deal?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“ I gave em all the info they just need a statement from you,” my manager reiterated. The man reluctantly agreed to come over to the phone, and that’s when we began to realize… this guy had fucked a tranny hooker who had then stole his valet ticket.
The man took the phone and headed into the valet office. This guy was trying as hard as he could to play it cool, but the only breaths he took were loud dramatic conscious breaths as if he was about to get timed to see how long he could stay under water in his friend’s jacuzzi.
He was agitated and pacing , with one hand nervously alternating between his sweaty forehead – as though he was checking himself for a fever – and the top of his head, palming his frazzled hair as if it was a grippy-enough-to-palm basketball. His other hand held his cell phone with his wife on the line who he was breaking the news to with plenty of lies mixed in.
“Nooooo. Honey. I got it. I don’t need ANYTHING. I’m fine. I’m gonna handle it and I’ll call you later. Stay there. You don’t need to come over here. Staaaay there.”
99.9999999999 percent of the time when your car gets stolen, you think “I hope they find that fucking guy and bring my car back.” The .00000000001 percent where you don’t is when you’ve fucked a tranny hooker who stole it. Unfortunately for this dude, the cops were ON POINT that day. Thirty minutes later the cops pulled up to the hotel with the tranny in the back. The tranny looked shocked, and with good reason. She had been playing the ol’ “OK. I’m gonna steal your car, and I bet you won’t call the police because then you’re gonna have to explain to them why you were with a tranny hooker. …Your move.” As far as plans go, that one is PRETTY FUCKING GOOD. But the one thing she didn’t count on, was how dumb this guy was. Mostly because the man didn’t realize what a fucked up game of chess he had gotten himself into.
This was the first time the man realized the game the tricky tranny was playing. He had called her bluff without realizing the repercussions. The cops began questioning the man and we watched as he slowly realized he shoulda just let it go. It was a 90’s truck bro… keep paying the registration, and add her onto the insurance.
The man was now reunited with his truck. … But also with the big strong man he made illegal love to a few hours prior. As far as reunions go, I would rank it up there with the season of Curb Your Enthusiasm where all the Seinfeld people come back. It was that enjoyable.
The man knew he had to lie, and the best he could come up with was this: The tranny snuck in to his room when he was getting ice and stole his ticket. He stuck to this story LIKE GLUE. The strongest glue you can buy. The kind of glue you’d use knowing that if it unsticks, rather than your printer’s paper tray becoming useless again, you go to jail, get divorced, and lose any custody of your kids. Soooo, like Rhino Ultra Glue.
Unfortunately the Tranny responded with “I fucked that dude.” That is a VERY strong argument. As the cops continued their questioning and searching, The man brought the show to a whole new level and started …crying. Real crying. I’m not talking about reality show crying, I’m talking about big salty drops that soaked his cheeks and let everyone around him know that he realized his life was about to DRASTICALLY change. I’m guessing it was because he got caught, but my manager thought it could have been due to the sorrow he felt knowing that the tranny hooker was lying when she told him she loved him. Either way, SUPER SAD, DUDE.
It’s hard to see a grown man cry. It’s heart wrenching and feels out of place and unnatural. And we all felt bad seeing it. …HOWEVER, we did not feel bad enough to not HOPE AGAINST ALL HOPE that his wife would pull up in a minivan with 2 kids in the car right as the tranny was screaming “I fucked that dude.”
But that didn’t happen. Sorry.
Somehow he got off. Even through his breakdown he stuck to his story. Maybe the cops realized the case would come down to this guys word against a tranny hooker’s word and decided to save the state some money in court costs. Or, with Christmas was right around the corner, maybe the cop was an angel. Just like Clarence from a fucked up “W” Hollywood Hotel version of “It’s A Wonderful Life”.
I think the real shame in this is that the man will never recount this story to his friends. Because, at the end of the day, isn’t life just about telling stories to each other. In my alternate universe, I hoped the man’s Monday morning went a little something like this:
“Bill, whats up man. You do anything this weekend?”
“Whats up G-man. Ummmm. Fuck what DID I do this weekend. …OH. Actaully ya. On Saturday I grabbed a few beers with Kevin. He said they’re having another kid in June. He says he thinks it’s gonna be a girl but he says neither of ‘em really care either way. Ummmm but ya then he had to bail early so I ended up picking up a transvestite hooker and getting a room at the W for like 199 bucks, since I had some Starwood discount thing from when I went to New Mexico. Pretty nice fucken rooms. Ummmm. Ya so then anyway he fucked me and then I fucked him and then he ended up stealing my car in the morning. …Ya the truck. With all my tools and shit in it. So the cops ended up coming and I told em a story and ended up crying really, really hard. …Ya like really, really crying. …I don’t know I guess I just had a lot of shit going on at that moment and it just came out. What’d you guys do? “