It’s Never Good to Confront a Meter Maid

Parking in Beverly Hills is a near-impossible task.

My first show business job after college was as a menial serf for a Beverly Hills production company specializing in award shows. I ran errands, photocopied scripts and ordered office supplies. The low point of each day was lunch. I took meal orders for a dozen staff then drove to multiple restaurants to pick up the food.

My nemesis was a portly executive producer named Dennis Goldstein. He threatened to fire me if I didn’t retrieve the lunch orders quickly. He’d accuse me of screwing up then send me out for more food, an excuse for him to get double portions. Restaurants included Nate ’n Al’s for pastrami, Kate Mantilini for roast chicken, Hamburger Hamlet for burgers and Il Fornaio for pasta. Each stop meant I had to find parking, a near impossible task in Beverly Hills. There were no loading zones and this was the pre- cellphone era so I couldn’t call to have food brought outside.

I carried jars of quarters and prayed to the parking gods for available spots. Broken parking meters were the bane of my existence. I received a ticket in my first week due to a faulty meter on Canon Drive. The citation was $75, more than half my daily salary of $150. (The company refused to cover parking tickets.)

During pre-production on the Golden Globe Awards, I took lunch orders for two dozen people. I limited choices to two restaurants…