All About the Valet (Craig's perspective)

[A guest post from Craig]

At our “executive apartment” we get valet service for the car. They told us when we checked in that when we want our car to call down first and they’ll have it ready. The first day I called about ten minutes before we went down to leave and waited for the car. The second time I called about 15 minutes early. Still no car. The third time I called 20 minutes early and waited a full ten minutes more before the car arrived. After that, I was done with valet. We had learned that we could get a key card and park in the garage ourselves. Frustrated, I acquired the card and the next time we went out we decided to park in the garage to avoid waiting for our car.

The problems began when we drove behind the hotel/apartment building (plus an office building, another apartment, and a third office) to the two-lane road behind that gained us access to the garage ramp. Parking in the UAE is always a challenge. I don’t know what local building codes dictate but there’s never enough dedicated parking and never enough surface parking. If there’s a vacant lot or a planter you’ll likely see a car partially parked in it enough to keep a lane of traffic clear. We rounded the corner to the alley behind the building and that was the case we discovered. A row of parked cars half in the dirt over the curb and half in the alley, creating a single lane for two-way traffic. On top of that, one car—facing toward us—had its hazards on indicating (locally) that someone ran in somewhere to get something and didn’t bother finding a parking place.

After much confusion with our car and others, the vehicle left, allowing other cars coming toward us to get by before we headed down the alley to find the garage ramp. Once we got into the garage we had to get to G4—four levels down. It was slow going between speed bumps (these are very aggressive in the UAE) and people pulling in/out of spaces (slowly) and people away from the vehicles (obligatory hazard lights on). We got to G2 before I realized this plan was untenable. Between the alley access and the time spent trying to get to the lowest levels of hell I realized this could not be the norm. It would take too long! 

So I didn’t park. Instead, I turned around and drove back up and valet parked and gave the guy at the front desk of the apartment building my access card. 

The next couple of days were work days. Each day the car took 45 minutes to appear. One day, the valets made me late for an important meeting. I was pacing out front. The Eastern European girl who was manning the front desk (we have never seen her again, strangely) I think felt sorry for my situation when I came in to complain and say the valet service was unacceptable. “Don’t call the house line to order the car,” she said to me a bit conspiratorially (or at least I imagined it to be somewhat conspiratorial). “Call me here. I’ll get the car ready. I’ll keep calling them every five minutes and yell at them. Just tell me when you call me when you want to leave.” She had offered to have the car ready at a specific time every day, but I don’t leave at the same time each day because meetings on-site start early some days, I work late the night before, or I have 100+ emails from Los Angeles that came in overnight that I have to deal with urgently before I leave for site.

So the next morning I called the front desk of the apartment and told the girl I would be down in 20 minutes and she said she’d have the car ready. And guess what? When I got down to the lobby the car was there!

Until it wasn’t.

One morning, after my Eastern European friend was gone, I came down and a large, sand colored SUV (ubiquitous in the region) was out front. I poked my head out the door to see if my rental was in front or behind the behemoth. It was not. The valet was there and asked me for my ticket. I handed it to him and he handed me the keys…to the SUV. “That’s not my car,” I said. He wordlessly showed me the valet tickets—the one on the key fob and the one I handed him. They were the same. “I see,” I said. “But that is not my car.” 

“It <i>is</i> your car,” he said, pointing at the tickets as if this truth was irrefutable. “That is <i>not</i> my car!” I said. “Someone made a mistake!” As is often the case when there is a service problem in this region (service is plentiful because it is cheap but the motto we have here is “They’ll get it 70% right. The other 30% is almost impossible to achieve.”), the situation turned into a group activity with much talking in a language I do not understand. And to make matters worse, I had an important meeting to be at and this was cutting into my drive time. “You are making me late for an important meeting. I need my car!” That stopped the cluster discussion. Phone calls were made. A manager from the attached Marriott appeared. There was a new cluster discussion and more phone calls. “This is making me late for work!” I said angrily. They could see I was agitated. Finally, one of the valets said, “We go to look for your car now.” 

WHAT???

We took the elevator to the G4 in the garage. He stood there. I stood there. “What do you want me to do?!” He took me to the valet office and opened a cabinet door revealing dozens and dozens of car keys on pegs, each with a valet tag hanging from it. “Find your key and the space number is on the peg.” I looked through keys. The key fobs were all similar. Tags were hiding many. The only identifiable feature of my key to me was the Eurocar Rentals tag on the keychain and the bathroom key I had to the one clean bathroom in the theme park. I couldn’t find the key. “I don’t see it!” I was really frustrated and agitated now, as it had been almost 30 minutes since I had showed up in the lobby to leave for work.

He gestured that I should be out looking for the car. So I started—nearly running at this point—to search the rows and rows of cars. At some point I realized G4 was not even the lowest level in the garage—there was at least one more level down! This was going to take forever! 

Finally, I found the car! I got the space number, ran back to the valet office and the valet guy grabbed the keys and handed them to me. I ran back to the car to head out and the valet guy asked if I could give him a ride back to the hotel entrance! “Yeah…I guess!” I said, now more frustrated than ever. 

Driving up and up through the narrow lanes in the parking garage—pausing while people ahead of me jockeyed into or out of a space—and up to the surface took what felt like forever. I went down the one lane-ish alley to the hotel entrance to drop off the valet. “I’ll need your driver’s license and passport,” he said. “I have to fill out some paperwork that you need to sign.” 

Now if this was America I would have told the guy to go f**k himself and attempted to burn rubber in my humble little Ford Focus. But because this is the UAE, aggression of any sort can be reason enough to get the cops called on you, so I gritted my teeth and said, “Look, this has already made me late for work. Don’t make me later. I can sign anything you want when I get back from work tonight. In the mean time, am I breaking any kind of law if I leave now?” He told me I could go. 

I never was able to peel out.

A couple days later I went to the hotel lobby (the Marriott Hotel and the Marriott Executive Apartments are attached) and asked for the manager. It was in the evening, so I got the feeling the guy they sent to me wasn’t the manager, but it was close enough. I told him about the problems with the valet service and the time it was taking to get the car in the morning. “We are very busy in the morning. Sometimes it can take up to 15 minutes,” he responded. “So what do you think about 25, 35, or 45 minutes?” I asked. “We are very busy in the morning,” he repeated. “So what about when they lose my car? And I’m late for work? And I have to searching for it in the garage? Is that okay?” He had no real satisfactory response.

“I want to talk to the hotel manager,” I said. The next day was Friday, the first day of the weekend. “I’ll talk to him in the morning. I will be sure to have him call you. What time tomorrow would be good?” “Anytime between 11 am and 1 pm, “ I said. “Okay. We will be sure to call you.”

I never got a call.

But guess what? Since that day (it’s been two and a half weeks) my car is always there in the morning. I don’t wait. It’s not lost. No pacing. I’m not sure what went down, but all I know is the valet service has drastically improved from the first few weeks!