November 4

I had another interesting Pemberton parent encounter today.  We have a mom, who is never very nice.  I can tell by the way that she treats all of us that we are her servants and that she’s used to most of the world serving her every whim.  It is expected.  She demands, not requests.  She grows impatient when we don’t jump upon the moment of her arrival.  She is the only person in the world, and it should revolve around her.  Nobody else’s needs are of any consideration.  Really, there are no other needs besides her own, right?

She usually whisks in early in her Jaguar, but today she must have been late arriving, because she was far back in the car line to pick up her child.  While we know the parents want to chat about their child’s day with us when we put their child in the car, the teachers are also keenly aware that we have to keep the line moving, so we don’t chat long, just a reassuring comment or two.  Things are moving well, though, and we’re getting through the line quickly…but not quick enough for this mother.

Before she’s halfway around the circle drive approaching the door, she’s honking her horn.  It doesn’t make the line go faster; it just makes everyone stare at her and wonder what her problem is.  When that doesn’t get her anywhere, she begins gesturing out the window along with her honking.  I disrupt the flow of what I’m doing to walk around and see if there is some true emergency, because I recognize that she is one of my parents.  She has now just sabotaged her own attempts to speed up the line, because she’s pulled me away from putting children in the cars ahead of her, but she doesn’t seem to be aware of that.  She rolls down her passenger side window to talk to me.

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

“Yes!  I’m going to be late for my mani/pedi appointment!”

“I’m sorry, but we’re moving the line as quickly as we can.  I’ll have your child out to you as soon as we get these cars in front of you loaded, but it’s not safe for me to bring your child out here to you across the driveway and then, as you leave, have you driving past cars that are in the process of loading their children.  I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”  (Not to mention the fact that it would be unfair to the other parents who arrived ahead of you, and the drive is not made for two-lane traffic.)

I head back toward the door, but I can tell she’s fuming.  To make matters worse, two cars in front of her, I need to talk to the mom about her child’s bathroom accident and make sure that mom knows there are soiled clothes in the tote bag.  The conversation takes longer than usual, and my impatient mom is growing red in the face.

One of the other teachers, bless her heart, loads the car in between the impatient mom and the one I’m loading with another one of my students to try to help keep things moving when she sees me stuck.  When that car pulls away, the impatient mom pulls up her car, gets out (which she never usually does and is not supposed to do), steps up on the curb, crosses her arms, stamps her foot, and glares at me.  What is she, three years old?  She’s more immature than her child!

I finish answering the mom with the soiled clothes in her tote and turn to the front door without uttering a word.  However, Impatient Mom begins to give me the tongue-lashing of my life.  In the meantime, Janie could tell something was up and had the child ready for me at the door.  With threats of contacting my superior and further threats of my dismissal, she snatches her child from me and yanks him into the car.

“Ow, Mommy!  You’re hurting me!”

She slams the door in his face, leaving him to fend for himself with the car seat belt buckle, and stomps around the car.  After slamming her door, she revs the engine and roars away.  The whole car line is too dumbfounded to move forward for a minute.

“What was that all about?” Janie asked as I came back in for the next child.

“She was late.”

“For what?  Brain surgery?”

“No, a manicure.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I wish I were.