My Kid Learned to Swear in the Drop-Off Line

I like to think of myself as a usually (sometimes) level-headed, rational person. But I become someone my poor son barely recognizes when it’s time to drop him off or pick him up from school…..

The dreaded Drop-Off and Pick-Up Line. The Hell Line as it is known in these parts (well, actually, it’s just known like that to me). I hate it like I’ve never hated anything else before.

I’m thinking every normal, rule-following parent at any school in this country hates the Hell Line. But the problem is that half the people who use the Hell Line must not be normal and are certainly not rule followers.

And so, every morning, from the security and sound-proofed windows of my car, I begin:

“Oh Come on j#/*@! The sign clearly says you can’t U-Turn in front of all of us!!”

“Really? Did you see that, Ben? That a#@?# can’t hold up the line like that – get your kid out of the car!”

“Who is that? What the *#!!@ are you stopping there for? You can’t double park and let that kid out – she’ll get hit!!”

“C’mon People! Do you not see the 25 cars behind you? Did you really just get out to chat with your friend in the car in front of you? You have got to be s%#*?#-ing me!”

And every afternoon:

“Move it up, people!! The idea is to pick your kid up at the front, not let them cross in front of these cars. What is this s*#*?”

“Where is the principal? I’ll take the Assistant Principal. *#s@!!#.  How about the police?”

“You can’t cut in front of me and double park to pick your kid up, you @$#I*!!”

“S#@*!> Ben, did you see that maniac exit from the wrong lane? What the h*/@# is WRONG with him?”

Ben is both mildly entertained and slightly put off by my behavior. At this point, he makes sure the windows are shut tight and once in a while slides down in his seat. Then he tells me to relax and has a great time imitating me because he thinks it gives him license to swear right along with me.

Not my best parenting moments in that Hell Line, I’m afraid. I magically morph back into a rational person once again when we turn out of the school driveway and then apologize for my bizarre behavior. My poor son just shakes his head and goes back to texting.

I guess we all have our own personal Hell Line – maybe yours is the lady in the (very well marked) 15 Items or Less grocery line who has 53 items in her cart or the little old lady in front of you trying to pump her own gas (slowly and apparently for the first time). Maybe it’s the guy who is on his cell when he should be ordering coffee at Starbuck’s or the cashier at Target who is having a lively discussion with her current customer, while 11 others are waiting to be checked out.

Yes, we all have to deal with people who seem unaware that we are here sharing the planet instead of it revolving solely around them. How are things in your parking lot?