Whoopsy Part 1

It's been a busy week for me, and when time comes at a premium and I get tired, my social graces sag. Here's one of the things I've muttered this week within earshot of all the wrong people. I'll give you the brief context, then the verbal faux pas.

The bus stop for Dante is just down the road from our apartment and across the street. Dante has to walk four houses down, cross the street and stand on the other side to catch the bus. Normally, I walk down to the street, stand in front of the apartment and watch him walk down, cross the street, board the bus and sail away. Parents with younger kids go with their children and stand there until they're safely seated. The parent group is made up of the "have-nots" and the "have-a-littles." Or, frankly, the lazy-ass welfare moms and the working moms (and one dad). I work with welfare women. Don't give me hate mail about respecting welfare moms (and don't give me dissertations about the welfare system, MD). I know the difference between women going through hard times and women who were raised to bilk the system. It's pretty obvious that these are the sit on your ass, collect a check and bitch about life kind of women.

One of these women in particular has a five year old kindergartner. The kids have all been in the habit of standing with their friends in a sort of a line until the bus gets there. This woman has been hellbent to see her child get on the bus FIRST at all costs. Any semblance of "cutting line" is met with a tirade from her. As if it matters. They all get to school at the same time. What damn difference does it make?? She especially doesn't care for Dante and his two buddies, as they are boys, and she sees boys as inherently and genetically problematic, as I've deciphered from some of her more coherent mutterings. So when she perceived one or two of the boys as "cutting line", she said, "Next time one of you boys cuts line, I'm gonna cut you."

Momma was down there standing with Dante the next day. I think this idiot knew she'd stepped in her own shit by the sheer amount of other parents standing there with me the next day, sipping coffee, smiling politely at each other and alternatively trying to set her on fire with their eyes alone. It's a skill you learn as a new parent: how to appear diplomatic when you're three seconds away from a visit from the cops. It's particularly galling, as all the kids are sweethearted--as kids generally tend to be by nature--and have helped her own kid onto the bus plenty of times when the little girl was staggering trying to get onto the first step (she's pretty small). They've pushed the bus doors wider for her, caught her when she tripped, and generally given her space to figure out how to access the bus.

Crazy Welfare Mom decided to continue her incoherent ramblings about standing your ground, keeping your place, and standing up for your rights, all the while screaming at her kid to quit whining and dry up, and on and on and on. After one particularly ludicrous tirade about standing up for your "spot", it just slipped out:

"Great training for the cheese line."

I thought I had just thought it to myself. Apparently, I verbalized it. She turned red. The working people chuckled. The welfare moms' jaws collectively dropped. It was a shitty thing to say.

I don't feel a damn bit bad about it.

-- Virgil