Tales from the Diaper Bag



Angry, Pregnant Hormonal Rant

This week I was confronted with several idiots that made me want to go all pregnant and hormonal on their butts. . .but alas, social norms dictated that I could not indulge my fantasies of going postal on them. Luckily, I have a blog. . . so here’s my shout-out to all the people who made my week a little more angsty.

My first shout-out goes to that woman at the grocery store on Sunday who paid for her groceries with a check. Who, in 2008, still pays with a check? Lady, it’s called a debit card. Get hip to it. What’s the problem? You don’t trust the technology? You find the electronic pen too difficult to use? Well, maybe you can ask one of the 132 people that are now lined up behind you, watching their ice cream melt and milk go bad while you practice your calligraphy signing your name on the check. 

To the dude in the white SUV with the McCain/Palin sticker who tailgated me for ten minutes and then cut me off in traffic: Barreling up behind me in your urban tank isn’t going to get you to your destination any faster. It’s the morning commute, man. I’m not keeping you from going 80 mph, the 1500 cars that surround us on the road are. Drink some decaf, listen to NPR and chill out. You’ll get to work soon enough to earn the money to pay for what–I can only hope–is a crippling monthly gasoline bill for that monstrosity you call a car.

This one goes out to the woman who works on the second floor. You know who you are. You wait ten minutes in the lobby for an elevator to go up ONE FLOOR. You appear to be in perfect health–you don’t appear to be wearing a cast or weezing in a way to indicate that you’re on death’s door–but you get on a (very) crowded elevator with the rest of us and then we all wait while you shove past us TWO SECONDS LATER to get off the elevator. . .to get to an office you could have reached five minutes ago if your lazy butt had taken the stairs! That’s right. Don’t look back behind you. Because we’re all making dagger-eyes at you, hoping you trip and fall. Then maybe you’ll need that elevator. 

You there, guy who didn’t hold the door for the pregnant lady waddling up to the door–oh–five feet behind you– Who raised you?!? Forget that I’m pregnant. Forget that I’m a woman and you’re a man and that, once upon a time, there was such thing as chivalry. But what human being lets a door slam in the face of another person? It’s more than thoughtless, it’s actually rude. Why didn’t you just push me down and take my lunch money, you uncouth jerk. Hey. . .do you, by chance, drive a white SUV?

Oh yeah. She's back.

Oh yeah. She's back.

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