While attending UW-Milwaukee, my older son worked for a valet service on an occasional basis, parking cars at special events and working his butt off at a downtown lot during Summerfest. I doubt if he ever achieved Dean Moriarty's eye-popping skills.
I say fling, but he only worked like a dog in parking lots. The most fantastic parking-lot attendant in the world, he can back a car at forty miles an hour into a tight squeeze and stop at the wall, jump out, race among fenders, leap into another car, circle it fifty miles an hour in a narrow space, back swiftly into a sight spot, hump, snap the car with the emergency so that you see it bounce as he flies out; then clear to the ticket shack, sprinting like a track star, hand a ticket, leap into a newly arrived car before the owner's half out, leap literally under him as he steps out, start the car with the door flapping, and roar off to the next available spot, arc, pop in, brake, out, run; working like that without pause eight hours a night, evening rush hours and after-theater rush hours, in greasy white pants with a frayed fur-lined jacket and beat shoes that flap.
Pretty damn good typing, Truman.
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