I am a freelance entertainment reporter.
I've attended a variety of exclusive Los Angeles events from Katy Perry's red carpet to a rooftop fashion show. I've been able to meet the voice of Moana, Auli'i Cravalho, and eat a fancy-smancy dinner as Gloria Allred gave a powerful speech about The Man in the White House. It has all been an incredible experience, that I will forever be grateful for, but it's not all glitz and glam.
I drive an old car to work. By old, I mean my car is a How-Is-It-Still-Running-Type-Of-Car. My 1990 white Camry has been the bane of my existence the past several months. It's clunky, with all manual features, no music, and, to make matters worse, is an expensive gas guzzler. "It's fine," I often say to reassure myself, "It gets me from point A to point B."
I've become used to it. "Don't forget to lock the doors manually," has been a routine phrase in my day-to-day existence. Thankfully, aside from the puzzled look by red carpet valets, my car has never been an issue until a few days ago.
Last week I hopped in my 30-year-old car to drive to an interview at one of LA's top talent agencies located in the heart of Beverly Hills. As I frantically pulled up to a parking garage filled with Mercedes and Teslas, and I prepared to warn the valet about my doors, a man in a Brooks Brothers suit mouthed something inaudible.
I manually rolled down my window.
"Can I help you?" I asked. "Where are you trying to go?" he questioned me.
Then ran out two valet employees. "Whoa, whoa, whoa stop! Where you goin'?" one asked.
"Oh um, I'm here for an interview with the Talent Agency. They told me to park in Visitor Parking," I responded.
"Are you sure," an attendant questioned. "Yes?"
"Are you sure it's this talent agency? You're not lost?" Again: "Yes."
I'm definitely going to be late, I thought.
"And who are you exactly?" they continued to question.
Never in my life have I felt so attacked, judged, and empowered.
To make a long story short, after going back and forth, they hesitantly parked my car, and needless to say, I made it just in time, and I got the job.
Yes, the experience with the valet has definitely been one of the most frustrating experiences of my life, but I try and remind myself that the most celebrated names of our time have started from the bottom. Tiffany Haddish, one of the biggest stars in comedy (and ironically a client of the Talent Agency I interviewed for), drove in an old Geo Metro before her big break. Emmy Award Winning Talk Show Host Jeannie Mai started her career at the Mac counter. Heck, Oprah wasn't always Oprah; she was Orpah (Look it up haha).
In no way is this post meant to be my claim to fame; that's not my prerogative. But there is something to be said for starting at first base.
While I may be driving in a raggedy car, my resume speaks for itself, and the opportunity I was there for reminded me of how far I've come in a short a period. Only a year ago I was serving tables at one in the morning and attending community college. Now I'm at a fantastic university in the heart of LA interviewing for places I thought were exclusive to my TV and the pages of Variety Magazine.
Whether you wear a suit or an apron to work, whether your clothes are from Bloomingdale's or Marshalls, or whether your car is a Tesla or an old 1990 Camry, we're all just trying our best to further our careers and pay our bills. Hopefully, one day, those parking attendants will understand that.
I don't know whether I'm going to accept the position; I've found other opportunities. If I do, I'm going to show up every day in my old car and hand the valet the keys wearing a black suit I got from the sale rack.
