The Bitter Safety Dance

I've got a whole bag of shhh for you.

I’ve got a whole bag of shhh for you.

I’m gonna let you in on a little secret about me.  Listen closely now.  Ready? I have a little trouble with authority. Ever since I was young.  Close your mouth from the shock.  Take you finger out of the light socket.  You don’t want to get shocked a second time. Remove your tongue from the 9 volt battery.  You don’t want to get shocked a third time.  Take off the metal suit during the thunderstorm…you get the point, I think.

So the authority thing.  I’m not a fan of bosses, presidents, CEO’s, CFO’s, supervisor’s, Bus Transit Authorities, principals, policemen or even the Lords of Leaping or The Lord of the 5 Golden Rings, lording their authority over me.  Imagine my bitterness, when the last few weeks, when I’ve had the pleasure of dropping my child off to school while I get to stay home and do nothing, one such authority has been taking me to school. Or at least trying to humiliate me in front of it.

Running the streets like a boss.

Running the streets like the Orange Vest Mafia.

This authority figure runs the streets, or at least the crossing of them. Yes, the head of crossing guards had the gall to take me to task.  Of course, I probably deserved it being such a rebellious rule breaker that I am.

Guess I forgot to read the safety manual.

Guess I forgot to read the safety manual.

The first time, I violated the all important No Running on the sidewalk rule, which I of course read in the student manual when my kids first starting going there. Of course I’m joking when I say I would read a manual. I know there is a strict no running policy when it comes to swimming pool areas or me running any kind of marathon or .5 k, but on the sidewalks of school? I think you need to check yourself before bottleneck yourself, Chief Commander of Crossing.  I promise I won’t sue the school, if I accidentally step on a crack that break’s my mom’s back.

I hold a grudges longer than a semi-truck convoy across the U.S., but I figured I wouldn’t have the displeasure of running into this piece of bitter authoritarian pie again. As usual, I was wrong.

I again to forgot to read the manual in subsection bull crap on page I don’t care, so I again got called on the carpet for violating the all important rule of NOT WALKING ON THE GRASS. I kind of think that people get a little too bent out of shape when anyone walks on any grass.  I mean do they realize how lucky they are to even any grass at all for me to walk on? Most of New York, and a majority of people around the world don’t even have grass.  They should be honored that I chose to walk across their grass.  I’m so sorry that I walked on something that gets mowed to shreds by a lawn mower, but if someone places their precious shoe upon the grass, people come unhinged.


I’m sorry, does my shoe light on fire if I step on your grass?

But the school safety patrol, yelling it up to a bitter dude that just wants to get his kid home so he can get back to being lazy again? Now I have to listen to this woman whose parents didn’t give her enough grass clippings as a child? Or who didn’t get the stop sign she wanted for Christmas as a child? Now she has to take out all her bitter safety rage on me?

I’ll get my revenge though, like I always do.  Right before the holidays are out, I’m going  to walk on the grass while running and then I will peel out at 16 miles an hour and not use my turn signal.  And as I do it, I will smile and wave my GO sign as I do. Learn not to mess with me Safety lady, and any other authority figure for that matter.


Bitter Safety Bitter

29 thoughts on “The Bitter Safety Dance

  1. Pingback: Unstable Friday Giftures | Ben's Bitter Blog

  2. Yeah, what’s up with crossing guards? It’s like every single one of them is their own unique brand of cuckoo. I think it’s a prerequisite of the job. In fact, if almost believe this story but, you running? Yeah right,


  3. Bahahaha! This cracked me up. How many times have I wanted to scream at a hall monitor or a safety officer and say, “Seriously Lady? I’m a bloody adult!” Where my hall pass? Do you really want to know where I think it is?


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