Dear Diary:
I spent 30 years in the limousine industry alternating between management and driving. Whichever was the lesser of the two evils: tolerating my bosses or the traffic.
One evening we had a reservation for a bachelorette party, which I decided to drive. The ladies sounded as though they were a real hoot when they ordered the 10-passenger white stretch limousine months in advance.
For anyone who’s familiar with Little Italy, you know just how narrow and congested the streets are on a Friday night, let alone trying to maneuver a 40-foot stretch limousine around such tight corners.
As luck would have it, there was a spot right in front of the restaurant as I pulled up to drop them off. Seeing just how tight the spot was, several of the women immediately panicked and jumped ship, fearing I was about to destroy this enormous vessel of a vehicle. The few who remained comfortably relaxed in the back had complete and total faith in my parking genes.
Although it was extremely tight, I never once touched either car bumper in front of or behind me â€" leaving me with just barely enough space to squeeze my knees through to get to the rear of the vehicle.
As I exited the car and proceeded to open the door for my remaining passengers, a young lady seated at one of the dozen or so outdoor tables screamed at the tops of her lungs: “OH MY GOD! IT’S A WOMAN!â€
With that, the rest of the diners all stood up and gave me what felt like a 10-minute standing ovation. Apparently they had all been watching me, figuring (and/or probably betting) it could and would never fit. I never laughed so hard or turned a deeper shade of red in my entire life.
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