Last weekend I had the opportunity to attend an event put on by a group from San Francisco that had raised money for my son’s school. The group – the Young Presidents Organization – had heard about Anova’s school building burning down in the Tubbs fire, and they wanted to do something to help the staff and students in the recovery process.
After some thought, they decided to send the school on a field trip to another site impacted by the fire — Safari West — and hold the event at a venue that is recovering from the fire, as well: Paradise Ridge Winery. (win/win/win!)
The organizers brought in everything for the event, from food and drinks to portapotties to an entire petting zoo for the kids. When you’d finished petting an alpaca, bunnies, baby goats, a cow, ducks, chickens and a tortoise, there were ponies for rides around the property, and face painting under the oaks.
(A quick I-don’t-get-out-much note: those portapotties were nice — as in, maybe nicer than my facilities at home. I certainly don’t have piped-in music or individualized thermostat settings in my bathroom. I know, I’m easily impressed … but still.)
The group planned breakout sessions for the kids to do activities (based on age ranges, the kids did different things) and the adults gathered for a discussion about autism, the fires and resilience, as we sat in the shade of giant oak trees while bees and butterflies flitted about the wildflowers and grasses of a freshly-bloomed meadow. It was lovely and amazing, and a wonderful balm to ease the sorrow so many have felt since that night in October.
After the event, I made my way back up the hill to retrieve my car from the nice young men who were providing the valet services. I had been one of the first to arrive – as a speaker, I was asked to come a little early, so my car had rolled to a stop in front of the podium as they were still putting on their vests.
I had apologized, and confided that I was not used to using valet services … as in, I don’t think I had personally ever had the opportunity. They kindly took my keys, gave me a ticket, and wished me a good time, assuring me they would take good care of my vehicle. I pictured the scene in an 80s movie — Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, maybe? — where the parking attendant races off in the red convertible for a destructive joyride, but I figured my well-loved minivan was safe from such temptations, and dutifully pocketed my ticket as I made my way down the hill to the event.
Now I handed a young man my ticket, and two other young men jumped in a vehicle to retrieve my mommyvan from the parking area. I struck up a conversation, and found out the man was from Danville, where he worked for the city when he wasn’t parking cars part-time. We talked for a few minutes more about the event and the fires and what a lovely day it was, and then my car appeared and I was handed my keys.
All of a sudden, it occurred to me: Wait, shouldn’t I tip them? I’m pretty sure you tip valets. Right? I asked if I could, and the man shrugged and said, “Sure, if you want to.”
I pulled my wallet out and almost instantly my heart sank. I realized that any cash I had (I vaguely remembered possibly $7, folded over a couple of crumpled times) was not in my wallet, as I had hoped, but in the pocket of the bigger bag I usually schlepp around, which was at home. Gah!
In a rush, I went with Plan B, and offered one of the cash facsimiles I did have: a Target gift card, featuring penguins jump roping over Christmas lights, which I am pretty sure still has the original $10 still loaded on it.
The young men sweetly declined the offer, but I’d like to think that they got the equivalent value in retelling the story of the flustered, unsophisticated, suburban lady in the minivan who tried to tip with a store card.
Juliana LeRoy wears many hats, including wife, mother, paraeducator and writer. She can be spotted around Windsor gathering material, or reached at
ml****@so***.net
.
