Guilt and Valet in Midtown Houston: A savage journey to park my car

My favorite diner-diving duchess, Katherine Shilcutt, is back at it again with a lengthy castigation of valet parking here in Houston. Despite our parting opinions on Crave and late-night sushi [in which I used some colorful, 1940's-era mobster lingo], I completely agree with her contention that valet is a plight on the Midtown dining experience.

But the valet is free! people will exclaim. No, it's not. You still have to tip a dollar or two and, if you're like me, you may not have any cash on you. And that valet service is being paid for by someone. Don't think it's been factored into the cost of your meal at the restaurant? Think again.

I, too, never seem to have the tangible cash-on-hand to tip these cretins. I spend them all on overpriced plantain chips and Chex mix during my stress-relieving spending sprees at the office snack machine. And why should I save my Washingtons for this nonsense? Why should I have to worry about loading my wallet with dollar bills for a service I never ever actually need?

Avoiding the Guilt-- that's why.

Valet Tip Guilt is the spectre that traverses the depths of your stuffed stomach after rocking a bucket of mussels at Reef, rips at your heartstrings, and commands you to fork over your small cash. It is an institution nearly as powerful and pervasive as Catholic guilt. And it's a bitch, too, when you're trying to enjoy your evening out with a lovely lady. I can't count the number of times a valet has looked up at me with a weird mix of stunned surprise and puppy-dog eyes after I indicate (with all unfortunate sincerity) that I don't have any ones to spare. The Guilt drives me to do stupid things like ask my girlfriend to pay the man. Basically, Valet Guilt is killing chivalry and my sex life and my well-being as a whole.

Restaurateurs argue that it's not their fault these useless services are taking over Midtown. Rather they're forced by landlords who cut shady deals with the valet companies and drive up rent (ergo, food prices) accordingly. Whether or not it's technically the restaurant's fault is moot to patrons. I always associate the crushing guilt of being unable to tip a valet with the restaurant, not the poor schmuck trying to make ends meet by parking cars.

Katherine, I'll echo your call to arms: Next time you're out and see that telltale "Free Valet" sign, balls up and say no. Park your own car and end this useless, expanding racket.

[Houston - Eating Our Words - The Valet Problem]