Get Out of My Way!

To the mom wearing a track suit and flip flops, holding the hand of a toddler: you are obviously not going to work today, so why are you at MY Starbuck’s at 7:55am? And why do you wait until you are in front of the cashier to have this conversation:

“Caitlin, would you like a hot chocolate?”
“NO!”
“Juice?”
“NO!”
“Milk?”
“NO!”
“What would you like?”
“I want Jamba Juice!”
“Sweetie, we’re not at Jamba Juice, we’re at Starbuck’s.”
“Jamba Juice! Jamba Juice!”
And so on.

Maybe I was a bad mother. I fixed a bowl of oatmeal for my son, little Crouton, and let him eat it at the coffee table and watch “Sesame Street” while I tried to get a few more minutes of sleep on the couch. Of course, 30 years ago we didn’t have over-priced drug-delivery systems, I mean, coffee emporia and sugared-up juiceries, to get our kids used to starting their mornings with a fix.

That’s not the real subject of my rant, however. I hesitate to say this because it will make me seem like the most curmudgeonly, miserable, intolerant old crone on the planet, but, I want everyone to get out of my way!

When I am empress of the world, this is how things will go: if you don’t work more-or-less regular hours, say Monday-Friday 8am-5pm or thereabouts, you will not be allowed in certain places at certain times, i.e., coffee places before 8am and the grocery store from 5-6:30pm. Identification will be required.

I have nothing against old people. I love old people. I have one of them for a mother. I am quickly becoming an old person. But they are home all day. Why do they have to wait until 5:30 in the afternoon to take the old sedan out to the grocer’s for that jar of oregano or tin of smoked oysters? That’s when I am rushing in to get something for dinner, and I’m tired and cranky and have to go to the bathroom, and steak is $9.49 a pound and they are out of my favorite brand of soy milk and I am so sick of broccoli and the lines are long enough as is. Puh-leez, go earlier in the day if you can. Hint: the store is empty at 10am or 2pm.

And to Caitlin’s mom once again: On the days when you do work and you pick up Caitlin at day care after work, and you’re in the same boat as I am, in the grocery store at 5:30, please please please do not let Caitlin run around and dart back and forth in front of people pushing carts and play hide-and-seek behind the displays. I know you’re tired and can’t really run after her in your oh-so-professional suit with the tight short skirt and your shoes with the 4-inch f@#k-me stiletto heels, so please secure her safely in the child seat of your cart and let her have a cracker and a juice box because she’s hungry and is going to start screaming any second.

I know, there are a million perfectly valid reasons why people have to do the things they do at the times they do them and can’t accommodate my unreasonable demands. My horrid secret is out in the open and I am now officially an awful, bilious person. Let the stoning commence.