Every so often I have to fly to Edinburgh for work. Luckily, I don't live too far from London City Airport, so if it's just for the day, I leave my car at the airport.
Whenever I drive to City Airport, I take advantage of the valet parking service or three reasons:
a) It's the same price as putting the car in the short-stay carpark, but I get to drive right up to the terminal
b) If I did put it in the main carpark, chances are I'd never find it again
c) It's very, very amusing watching a man wearing top hat and tails have to park my 1992 Vauxhall Astra.
When you drive up to the terminal, a chap comes to greet you and has a form for you to sign. You let him know when your flight lands again at City so that they can have your car ready for you.
Now, this form has a little picture of a car on it, on which the man circles any dents or scratches on your car, presumably so you don't try and claim that they damaged it at a later date. Fair enough. But it was with not a small amount of scepticism that the man looked at me last time. He eyed my little car up and down, particularly noticing the large dent (caused by Laura vs. Parish Church iron gate) in the driver's door. Carefully and with not a small amount of irony, he drew a circle round the entire picture of the car.
Git.
Luckily I managed to find out where he lived and burned his house down. These people have to learn.
1 comment:
You did our gig in Canterbury, and all you have to talk about the next day is this. I'm hurt. Deeply hurt. And hungry. I'm going to go and have some biscuits...
Post a Comment