I haven't been writing very much about Texas, which is strange for me. There is a lot of good material here, but I wasn't feeling it for a little while. I worry people will think that I stopped examining culture and our daily intersections with it; but fear not. On the matter of Houstonian daily life, I just went quiet, like a submarine. But I'm back at the surface now.
There is something that has struck me from day one here, and I'm told it is common practice in Texas. Almost everywhere you go, there is valet parking. Every restaurant, which in most cases means in every strip mall since that's where most of the restaurants are, even in every shopping area...I can't think of a place where you can't roll up to the front door and hand over your keys for a couple of bucks. There is usually a little handful of front row parking spots marked off with orange cones right in plain view of the entrance to said destination.
My husband and I find it hilarious because you can emerge from dinner in the curious position of standing directly in front of your car, but not being able to drive away in it because you gave your keys the the valet guy who is now nowhere to be seen. Where we are from, valet is only for the weak of spirit, or for when it is forty below and you are forced to wear special-occasion clothing that exposes your skin to the frigid air, or possibly for when you are faced with undeniable evidence that if you try to park your own car, you will have such a long walk to your destination that you will miss the engagement for which you were parking in the first place.
