Go check out the parent drop-off lane at your nearby school some morning. There, you will meet the people who produced these children.
Thankfully, most days my kids make the bus or get rides from their friends. I have to be at work by 7:30 a.m., so basically, if they miss it we have to high-tail it outta here immediately. Mama don't have time to dilly-dally in the a.m., people. Don't tell my kids I said this, but these spontaneous morning drives are actually pretty nice. Some of our best conversations have happened in the car.
It's always cool until we hit the drop off lane. I'm a laid back lady. I'm not a honker, a screamer, or a tailgater. Sometimes I will whisper obscenities under my breath. Sometimes these obscenities shock even me, the kind where for a second I get worried that my phone has accidentally dialed someone and they've overheard me calling someone a c*ck sucker. Because that, my friends, is a word that will sometimes tumble out of my piehole without warning. Especially if I'm PMSing. (and relax, it only happens when I'm alone in the car...okay maybe Walter has heard it a time or two..don't tell our vet). Of course I drop the eff bomb, usually prefaced with "mother". Asshole happens. I may or may not have called a lady driver or two a "pretentious twat". Sometimes I will observe angry silver-haired men driving luxurious little sports cars like they are fighter jets and whisper, "I'm so sorry about that erectile dysfunction!"
But all of this is muttered with a smile on my face. I get it off my chest and all they see is a frizzy haired middle aged lady smiling like a lunatic behind the wheel of her crappy little Ford Focus. We're all good.
Where was I going with this? Oh yes! The parent drop off lane.
William missed his bus yesterday. Nothing drama related, no shoe hunt or forgotten homework involved, just a "lost track of time" thing. We hustled into the car, had a sweet chat and pulled into the school drop off lane.
That's where we met these people:
MR VIP: He's more important than you. Or me. Basically he's more important than anyone. He's VERY IMPORTANT. So it's okay for him to pull up to the front of the line. And then pull out without looking. Because he has very important places to be, you see. Don't get in his way. Oh, what's that? He's blocked you in? That's okay. Where you have to be is nowhere nearly as important as him. You can wait.
The Long Goodbye Mom: This is the mom who needs to tell her child something really crucial. Only she waits until said child has stepped out of the car and is about the shut the door. Said child stands there, door open, listening to mom. For an eternity.
Confused Parent: This is the mom or dad who can't quite figure out the flow of things. Which is totally understandable, except for the fact that they've been dropping their kid off every morning for the past three years. I suspect they are probably the same people who drive the wrong way through one way lanes in shopping mall parking lots. You know, the ones who are going the opposite way the parking spots are slanted? Yeah. Them.
The Chatty Kathy Klub: You've seen them: one mom is walking through the parking lot, and stops to gab with a friend who's in the drop off lane. She leans in, hand resting on the hood of her friend's car, and they laugh and laugh for a while. Eventually she looks up and realizes there are other people in the world besides her and her gal pal, and some of these other people have formed a line that stretches out to the street in front of the school so they wrap up the conversation. Slowly. "See you at yoga!" ...and scene. Your child is about to be tardy, but that's okay. Kimmy and Pepper are all caught up now, and that's what matters.
The Angry Parent: This one is not as laid back as most of us. This one is pissed, and isn't shy about letting it show. They will honk. They will yell things out the window. They will peel out of the lane and drive way too fast through the parking lot, and if you're really lucky, they'll throw their cigarette butt out the window for good measure. What Angry Parent should really do is join Kimmy and Pepper at yoga, right? Get that chi centered and whatnot.
Sister Cellphone (sung to the tune of Sister Christian, yo):
Sister Cellphone oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one
to say, "call you back, okay?"
Who you callin', who you textin' to?
You know your kid's tryin' to talk to you
(big drum build up)
And that's all I've got for Sister Cellphone. She's on her phone when she drops her kid off, she's on it when she picks him up. She's on it when you pass her in the school hallway, at the soccer game and during the band concert. Girlfriend has a problem. And let's hope, one hell of a data plan.
Did I leave anyone out? Aside the frizzy haired grinning maniac in the shitty silver Ford Focus listening to the Violent Femmes and thinking about the Andrew McCarthy sex dream she had last night? We can call that one "Stuck in the 80's Mom". I hear she's fun to hang out with, though, so she has that going for her.
And don't get me started on the high school parking lot. That's where their kids drive.