Ferris, Cameron, and Sloane pull the car into a parking garage downtown. Cameron doesn't want to leave it there—not only that, but he wants to take the car home to the 'burbs. Sloane tries to talk him into staying. Ferris assures him it will be okay, especially after Ferris tips the attendant five bucks. Even for 1986, that's not much of an incentive, man.
The attendant shows up and practically drools over the Ferrari. He's a little sketchy looking, and Ferris immediately asks him if he speaks English. Way to be culturally sensitive, Bueller. The attendant asks Ferris what country he thinks this is; Ferris looks at the camera, and then he asks the attendant, who, arguably, he's just insulted, to take good care of the car. Great. The attendant assures him he will, and Cameron eyes the attendant skeptically. The attendant tells Cameron to relax, and then he tells the whole gang that they have nothing to worry about.
The attendant heads for the interior of the garage, and the kids hit the streets of the Chicago Loop. Behind them, the attendant swings the car back around and out of the garage, another attendant hops in, and they speed off. Oops.
Back at Chateau Bueller, Mom's popped by to check on Ferris. What a caring, responsible parent. Too bad he's not there. A sinister tune befitting a horror movie plays as she approaches Ferris's bedroom and turns the doorknob. When she opens the door, a body moves in the bed, snoring. What the what?
When Mom closes the door, we see what's up: Ferris has rigged up a mannequin in his bed, and the snoring's coming from his tricked-out stereo system. Why does a teenage boy own a mannequin? We'll probably never know.
Just when it seems like Ferris is the clear thanks to his friend the mannequin, Rooney's words re: absences—"Nine. Times"—flash into Mom's head and she takes another look into Ferris's boudoir. Satisfied, she leaves.