I really thought I'd be blogging about my visit to the Secretary of State's Office right now. (That's what they call the DMV in Michigan. Yeah, odd.) Last time Mike went to a DMV, he saw a grown man wet his pants. If I was going to spend hours in a government building, I could only hope I'd be rewarded like that. But, alas. No dice. Nothing exciting. Just two hours of my life wasted while three women handled the paperwork of what seemed like 300 irritated people plus one argumentative 90-year-old woman who should go Greyhound and leave the driving to us.
Today's post stems from a scoundrel of a mom. The lowest of the low. A horrible woman who I wanted to give a piece of my mind but couldn't because she would not establish eye contact. I don't blame her. What she did was so inexcusable that she had better hang her head in shame for eternity.
I took the kids to their lesson at Goldfish Swim School. It's the aquatic version of Gymboree -- an incredible place that turns kids into little Phelpses. (Preferably Phelps as in swimmer -- not bong-hitter.) After the lesson, the kids hit the showers and there are a bunch of private changing rooms where they can get reacquainted with the fun parts of their body they haven't seen in awhile. Of course, there are more swimmers than rooms, so you have to wait in line to get one.
As I stood with my shivering Doobies, waiting for a door to open, I caught my first glimpse of the cheater. She was hiding in a changing room, laying in wait for her kids to finish showering. When she heard their voices, the door quickly swung open and she scooted them inside paying no mind to the awfulness of her crime. I stared at the closed door in disbelief. This grown woman squatted a room so her kids could change without waiting while my kids stood shivering. As the door reopened, I stared the saddle-bagged buttinsky down, hoping she'd look at me. She didn't. I should have opened my mouth. Instead, I bit my tongue. I didn't want to make the blotter. Not yet.
What else does this ogre of a woman do, I wondered? I bet she smuggles 13 items into the 8-item express line. She steals sugar packets from restaurants and towels from hotels. She always takes a penny, but never leaves one. She probably stole her Uncle Earl's handicap sticker for her car, too.
I don't get some people. What makes them think they're so entitled? As much as I hate the DMV, I have to admit, I love how it's the great equalizer. No matter who you are, how much money you have or what sort of rush you're in, you are treated the same. There's no shortcutting the system. No outwitting other people. It's just the same liberty and justice and awfulness for all.
Next Wednesday, I'm stealing the saddle-bagged beeyach's driver's license. You don't like to wait in lines, miss buttinsky? Well, sucks to be you.
2 comments:
What a beezy!! LOVE YOUR PLAN.
The way to avoid the long lines at the DMV is to have a friend run in the front door of the lobby and yell "IMMIGRATION!" When 90% of the people in line scatter for the exits, you can usually move right up to the front. (Doesn't make the DMV "workers" any more efficient, pleasant or aesthetically appealing, but it does get you out of there faster...)
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