…at least not in White Suburban Hell. It should be no surprise that Denver has received a TON of snow this winter, so that is the backdrop for this next heartwarming story.
Yesterday when I went to pick up DQ from kindergarten, I crossed the (neighborhood) street…oh the horror…without a crosswalk, during which this interaction took place:
School Crossing Guard of the day: “Ma’am, you need to cross the street at the crosswalk down the street.”
Me: “I would love to do that for you but due to the 20 or so feet of sheer ice on the sidewalk leading to the crosswalk, I’m crossing here. Thanks.”
School Crossing Guard of the day: “Ma’am, there’s ice everywhere.”
Me: “Not in the street there’s not.”
At which point I walked away so as not to get involved in an altercation that may or may not involve the authorities. I was mad. Really mad. (Rant Alert) I mean come on, I realize I’m one of about, oh, one that actually walks my kid to school, but you can’t expect people to follow your policies, if all paths leading to your policies are not safe and in the best interests of the people. POWER TO THE PEOPLE!!! Anyway, after raging about it all night to the one to whom I am married, I got over it and went to bed. Fast forward to today when, as I am walking out the door to walk DQ to school, I think “you know, if no one else is going to do anything about it, I am”. I grabbed the shovel and hauled it to the school with me. I’m standing outside the kindergarten rooms with all the other moms holding my shovel and getting these looks of, “please tell me she is not holding a shovel. I mean really, doesn’t she just hire those illegals to do that”. There were two that did make mention of the shovel being there, but for the most part it was like the elephant in the room.
After DQ was safe inside the school, TM and I proceeded to the icy sidewalk to try to break up and shovel away the ice. We succeeded for several feet until it got too thick for the plastic shovel to do any more. To continue I would need some ice melt, and who better to provide it than the school. So I marched TM, my shovel and myself over to the school office where this interaction took place:
School Secretary: “Hi! What can I do for you?”
Me: “Hi! (All smiles. Really) I’m working on clearing the 20 or so feet of ice leading to the crosswalk, and I’ve gotten to some ice that is too thick for me to break up. Do you by any chance have some ice melt I could use?”
School Secretary: (smile fading…fading) “Uhhhh…Ummm…what crosswalk?” (wrong question)
Me: (still smiling, though probably fake now)”The one the students and people picking them up are required to use. I was told yesterday that I had to use it and I’m pretty much not going to do that until the ice leading to it is gone, so I decided to do something about it, but the ice is too thick and I need some ice melt.”
School Secretary: “Ummm…Uhhhh…I can ask our facilities guy?”
Me: (face muscles now feeling like the most used muscle in my body as I try to keep the smile on my face) “Ok.”
After some discussion between them…
School Facilities Guy: “Ummmm…Uhhhh…I have some…pause…Umm…I’m really busy but I guess I could bring some out.”
Me: (o.k., really, face muscles quickly turning to lead) “That would be great, but you said you were busy and I don’t want to take you away from your work, so if you want I can just take the bag out there and spread it for you.”
School Facilities Guy: “No, it’s ok, I have a spreader. I’ll just bring it out.”
Me: (hold it. hold it.) “Thanks you so much. That’s really great of you.”
Exiting the school…Whew!
So then I’m outside again and see School Facilities Guy come out with his spreader. I show him where the problem area is and he very thourougly covers it with ice melt. Very sweet. While he’s spreading the ice melt so efficiently, a car full of teachers coming back from lunch turns the corner and snickers and laughs at him. I have a choice word for this group of individuals, but I’ll keep that to myself. I thanked him kindly and we parted ways.
At this very moment they are probably marking all DQ’s files with a big red P for PROBLEM MOTHER. Ahhh, just another day in paradise.