"A few minutes later, I looked through the window to see Jeff sitting in the backseat of his car, reaching over the front seat, trying to grab the steering wheel. I went out with a waitress to speak to him.
"'I thought you were going to walk home.'
"'I did, and now I came back for my car.'
"What, no, that's… what?
"'You having trouble reaching the steering wheel?' the server asked.
"'The seat is too far back and I can't find the thingy to adjust it.'
"'And where did you put your keys in?'
"He reached to the seat next to him and held them up. 'I can't put them in until I reach the steering wheel! The hole is behind the steering wheel! It's behind it!'
"At which point she snatched the keys from him and said, 'You are in the backseat. You're not allowed to drive from the backseat.'
"'Oh, OK.' Then he pulled the door shut and laid down on the backseat.
"Neither of us had any idea of what to do. The server wanted to just drive him home and leave him in the backseat in his driveway, but I didn't think that was a great idea. Since we were hours from closing, we just brought his keys inside and figured he'd come in and we'd deal with it then. By the time we closed, he was still passed out in the back of his car, so we left the keys (which included his house keys) in the glove compartment and stuck a note on the front door of the restaurant saying 'Jeff, your keys are in the glove compartment. WALK HOME.'