Nearly every place in L.A. has valet. It’s the only way they can take a parking lot meant for 50 cars and make it hold 200, which in itself should make you worry. (I once – swear to God – had to valet park my car at a church.)

It’s one thing to worry. It’s another to look. Looking is bad. I know that now.

My husband, myself and a couple of friends were on our way to their company’s annual anniversary party held at a swanky downtown restaurant. (Swankiness can be measured largely by how much the valet parking costs. This one snuck into the double digits.) I hand my keys and my money to the guy in the maroon vest. Apparently God decreed all valets must wear maroon vests. He gave me my ticket, and I started to walk away. It would’ve been better for my blood pressure if I’d just kept going. But for reasons unknown, I looked over my shoulder.

That’s when I saw it.

A valet got in my car, threw it into reverse, drove backwards the wrong way down a one-way street, across three lanes of traffic – still backwards – and into a parking lot.

Did you follow that? I’m not sure you followed that. Let’s go over it again. He drove MY car in REVERSE the WRONG WAY down a one-way street, across THREE lanes of traffic. During RUSH HOUR.

In case you’ve always wanted one, watching that happen is an excellent way to develop a facial tick.