The last couple of weeks, trying to burn off energy or boredom or angst or what-have-you, I've been hanging out in the traffic circle, holding the moron sign and trying to get traffic moving at pick-up time. The sign says "Move Forward," but I like to pretend that it says, "Stop Being an Inconsiderate Ass and Move Forward When the Space Opens Up Right in Front of Your Freakin' Eyes." There's not enough space for that, of course, but I can pretend, right?
When the kids haven't been around me all day, I have some unplayed aggression to work off, so I pick up the sign with the imaginary saying on it, and I play traffic cop. It's actually rather fun to watch, I'm told. Other mothers -- and, yes, they're all mothers -- point out culprits to me and I politely flash the sign to them. They scofflaws don't give a shit that they're doing something rude. It's that privilege sticker they imagine they have.
So, anyway, there's this woman who has a kindergartner and another kid a couple of grades ahead. She almost always parks in the red zone to get her kid. 'Cause, you know, she's got a privilege sticker. One of the viewing pool said she couldn't believe it. When she recognized the mother, knew her as the parent of her own kindergartner's classmate, she said something to her. Kindly. Something along the lines of did she know it's dangerous to park in the red zone and if she does it, others will. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
The woman's response was, "Did Patois tell you to talk to me? She doesn't like me." Oh, sweetie-pie, I don't even know you. I only know your actions. I don't know your name. I don't know your kids' names. We've never talked. We've never exchanged greetings. We've never crossed paths. I don't know anything more about you than you consistently park in the red zone.
I wanted to approach her yesterday and introduce myself and tell her that I don't even know her to like or dislike her, but the other woman doesn't want me to do that. So I guess I get to go through more than five years of life at school with a woman who thinks I don't like her even though I don't even know her.
[Here's a secret, though, 'k? Promise you won't tell anyone, 'k? I don't like her. She's an inconsiderate ass. I don't need to know anything more about her to know I don't like her. Heh heh heh.]
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