I Sassed the Parking Lot Attendant

A little background... when my oldest was three, there was a tragic accident in the parking lot of our pre-school. A four-year-old was backed over and killed. The most poignant thing that came out of it was that every single woman in our community was telling herself after that how easily either one of the moms (the one whose child died, and the one who ran him over) could have been ME. Almost three years later, I don't know anything about the driver, but the woman who lost her son (tough as nails chick, I know her) has since given birth to a baby girl (they had two other girls at the time of the accident).

Having said all that, after that accident they completely restructured the parking situation. One of the rules is that you don't pull into a spot where you have to back out. You pull through. You only come in one way, exit one way, they have two parking lot attendants (volunteers from the church, all older men) with whistles and light sticks. If you use your cell phone or sip your beverage in the parking lot you will get whistled at. I am proud to say I personally have never been whistled at.

I am usually early picking up my kids, but yesterday I was there right at 11:15 (pick-up time). There was not a spot to be found. I circled back out of the lot twice before parking in the very last spot, furthest from the school, rather than circle again.

A question that many people ask me is how I navigate a parking lot with three young kids. Well, I carry the baby in my left arm (I can physically manage that for 5-6 minutes, tops, before he starts to slide down my hip) then hold the hands of both older boys in my right hand. On a good day Charlie and Atticus do not kick each other or give each other flats on purpose, and Max does not bite my shoulder.

So, yesterday, after pick-up, we are doing this inelegant parking lot waltz the four miles out to my car, when I notice one of the old parking lot buzzards following me. We get to the car, and as I am yelling at the kids to get in their seats and buckling them in, the guy is pointing out all the scratches and dents on my car, advising me which could be buffed out, etc. Okay, irritation begins.

I move around to the driver's side to get in and the old buzzard follows me. Clearly at this point he is not following me to make idle chit-chat, so once I get in, I roll down the window to find out what he wanted to say, and this is how it went...

Old Guy: Can I give you a few parking tips? (oh, boy, here we go)
Me: Okay...
Old Guy: You know you are supposed to pull in so you don't have to back out?
Me: I don't have to back out. (points to the lack of car in front of me)
Old Guy: Well, that's just the rule.
Me: Okay.
Old Guy: And another tip, a way to get a good parking spot is to get here on time.
Me: (deep breath) I was here on time.
Old Guy: Well, just so long as you know the rule.
Me: Yes, I know the rule, and I purposely disobeyed the rule.

Later at home I mused to my husband that perhaps they'd kick the kids out of school because I sassed the parking lot buzzard. "No chance, " he replied, "tuition is paid up."