Recently, I was at a very high-end hotel for a big event. People waited quite a while for a valet to bring them their cars, other ended up walking long distances to their cars while quite a few waited for a tram to take them near their cars.
I simply walked past the yellow Lamborghini, the black Mercedes and top-of-the-line Porsche to get to my 20-year-old motorcycle.
At least it was shiny and well cared for, so it didn’t look out of place. But that part didn't really matter. It has a parking place held in the same esteem as a $500,000 Super Car, just a hundred feet or so from the luxury hotel’s grand entrance.
This certainly wasn't the first time. I used to attend an annual event at the Beverly Hills Hotel. There the valet parking crew turned their noses up at you even if you drove a Rolls Royce unless they recognized your face from the silver screen. No celebrity? No pleasant treatment. Just a sneer from the guy who is used to parking the car of famous people. I loved to ride my motorcycle there because the valets weren't allowed to touch it and I could just leave it out front next to the best cars owned by the "best" of the in crowd. This was something I discovered the first time I rolled up and valet just sighed and said, “Park it wherever you want.” As long as I didn’t block someone’s idling limousine.
In lots of travels to wonderful hotels, only once did the parking attendant behave poorly to me as a motorcyclist. He asked me for my key. He made it his duty to be sure parking fees were collected. I refused to hand over my key and after some words, I insisted we took it up with management. The conversation with the on-duty manager was brief and I received an apology and was asked if my parking spot was sufficient. More commonly, particularly if I'm there for a longer stay, the valet walks me to the parking garage or other secure location and helps guide me. Then offers to help with luggage.
Riding a motorcycle makes any of us, for a few minutes, equal in stature to a celebrity driving a Bugatti.