30 hours.

So I clocked around 30 hours this weekend. Not too bad, I've definitely worked way more in a 72 hour time span, but this was hardcore valeting, starting every day at 6 am. Superbowl weekend was a whirlwind of parking cars, retrieving cars, carrying bags, storing luggage, opening doors, hailing cabs, making reservations, checking on airport shuttle times, driving the wrong way on a major road because 12 limos were blocking the drive, and smiling at creepy drunk guys who find the idea of a female valet oh so adorable. There were several constant frustrations this weekend, but the "can you bring my car around?" people (who you see in the bar having lunch 90 seconds later) were by far the worst. Our drive can only handle about 4 cars at a time, and 2 have to be driving through. Beyond that, it becomes a total clusterfuck. So DO NOT ask for your car if you're still trying to locate the rest of your group. DO NOT ask for your car if your bags are not even packed, let alone downstairs yet. DO NOT ask for your fucking car if you're about to go get a Bloody Mary and tuna sashimi salad. Exactly how long does one think it takes to bring a car around?

But there were definite perks. For one, those football players have some good genetics. Yeah, they're prettttty. Their wives/girlfriends/call girls are all pretty freaking hot, too. The cars were all gorgeous. I didn't get one subpar car all weekend and got to drive around gorgeous Mercedes, 6 series Beemers, Bentleys, even a Rolls Phantom made an appearance. My coworkers are all fabulous to work with. We laugh all day, we work great together, and I really do love those guys like they're my brothers. The general happy-go-lucky behavior of the guests was great. Even people who are in town to work the Superbowl are still there to have a good time. Myself, I stayed far away from any party zones as big crowds are so not my thing. But hearing the stories the next morning allowed me to live vicariously through others' crazy exploits. Some of my favorites were the "ho train" that came through the hotel every night; the group of players who all make millions a year getting so plastered their driver had to carry them inside and return the next day for his money; and definitely the old man and his wife:

Old man: "Get us a cab!"
Valet: "Where are you headed, sir?"
OM: "Honey, where the fuck are we going?"
Wife: "Shhh, dear, don't swear. We're going to Bennigan's."
OM: "FUCKING BENNIGANS?! What..."
W: "Dear! Keep your voice down!"
OM: "But...fuckin' Bennigan's??........I mean....Bennigan's?"
W: "Yes, we're going to Bennigan's, please calm down."
OM: "I'm fucking fifty years old and you're taking me to BENNIGAN'S?!?!"
(cab pulls up)
OM: "Okay, bitches, get in the back!"
W: "Lower your voice and get in the damn cab! I am tired of you being so rude and disrespectful!"
OM: (mutters incoherently while rolling his eyes and gesturing at wife to the valets; gets in cab) "Okay, cabbie, to BENNIGAN'S!!! AND STEP ON IT!!"

And while I can't wait to have a real career in a field I love, not to mention being able to stop relying on tips, it isn't so bad to take this home: