by Peter Weinberger

There are certain jobs you think you understand — until you actually do them.

Last weekend, I added “parking lot attendant” to my resume while helping my son Matthew manage the Claremont Club Championships, a two-day pickleball tournament that brought more than 500 players to town. Matthew’s company, Diamond Pickleball, manages five to six tournaments a year across Southern California.

I’ve covered events for decades. I’ve photographed them, written about them, flown drones over them, but I’ve never stood in front of moving traffic wearing a bright yellow vest and hoped for the best.

That was my job.

My post was at the main entrance along Monte Vista Avenue. The instructions were simple: Claremont Club members park in the main lot. Everyone else — players, spectators, the entire pickleball universe — belonged in overflow parking off Claremont Boulevard.

There was a large sign explaining this.

A very large sign.

A sign you could not possibly miss.

Which, of course, meant a surprising number of people missed it.

Most drivers approached, slowed down, rolled their window down, and heard me call out, “Member?” A quick “Yes,” and they were waved through. No ID checks. No scanning badges. Just a system built entirely on trust and eye contact.

The key to being an excellent parking attendant? Stay cool and calm regardless of the driving skills of people entering The Claremont Club parking lot. Courier photo/Betsy Weinberger

What could go wrong?

Well, roughly one out of every ten drivers decided this was more of a suggestion than a system.

Some didn’t stop. At all. They just drove straight through like I was part of the landscaping. I’d be standing there with a bright vest, arm raised, making direct eye contact and they’d glide past, windows sealed shut behind tint so dark you couldn’t tell if anyone was actually driving.

Now I understand why police officers have opinions about tinted windows. You’re basically negotiating with a moving mirror.

Then there were the speed demons. You wouldn’t think a parking lot entrance would inspire NASCAR-level urgency, but apparently getting a good parking spot can unlock something deep in the human psyche. A few cars came through so fast I half expected a pit crew to follow.

Two drivers managed to hit the “No Diamond parking” sign. Maybe a “Members only” sign might have made a difference.

And they didn’t brush or clip it.

Hit it.

And just … kept going. No pause. No glance in the rearview mirror. Just commitment.

My personal favorites were the “creative interpreters.”

“I’m just dropping someone off,” one driver said, with the confidence of a seasoned negotiator.

That was the last I saw of them.

The wavers were always friendly. Just a casual, mid-air hand flick and continued into the lot. I assume that was meant to convey membership, authority, or possibly just optimism.

Then there was the two second rule for the honkers.

You learn quickly when taking more than a few seconds answering a question, someone behind that car will express their feelings about it. Loudly.

Still, and this is important, the vast majority of people were great. Easily 85 percent or more were polite, patient, and cooperative. They rolled down windows, made eye contact, and followed directions. Many showed membership cards when entering.

It’s the other 15 percent that keep your reflexes sharp.

Meanwhile, in the background, the soundtrack of the weekend never stopped. If you’ve never heard dozens of pickleballs being hit at once, it’s … distinctive. A constant chorus of pops and clunks echoing across the club like a very polite construction site.

The tournament itself was impressive. Players of all ages and skill levels filled the courts, from beginners to experienced competitors, men’s, women’s, mixed doubles, all of it. And because it wasn’t single elimination, everyone kept playing. Which meant the flow of cars never really stopped either.

It also meant one thing became perfectly clear, very quickly: parking is not an afterthought.

Without management, the main parking area could have been full all day. And as cars backed up, suddenly the biggest challenge wouldn’t be on the court, it would be finding a place to put your car.

But when it works and drivers slow down, roll down the window, and give you three seconds of attention, it keeps everything moving. It keeps 500 people playing, watching, and enjoying the event without even thinking about where they parked. It also keep club members happy.

And that’s the goal.

By the end of the weekend I had a new appreciation for the people who do this job regularly. It’s part traffic control, part human behavior study, and part leap of faith.

Next time I pull into a crowded parking lot and see someone in a yellow vest waving me forward, I’ll be sure to slow down, roll down the window, and say hello.

Trust me, it helps.