Believe it or not, school has already started in the Phoenix area.
But no matter where you live in the country, there seems to be nothing more confounding than the etiquette of the school drop off and pick up line.
There are rules. For safety. For efficiency. Each school has its own method.
But as we all know, some parents do it wrong.
And then this happens.
We can forgive those poor kindergarten parents learning the obstacle course that is school drop-off and pick-up. But for the rest of you, we have you in our sights and we will be watching. And judging.
Because let’s be honest. We all judge. Here are the five types of annoying drivers you’ll see at school drop-off and pick-up line this year. Parents, don’t be one of these.
1. The entitled parent
These parents roll-up, oblivious to the concept of waiting their turn, crossing in front of parked and waiting cars like they’re part of a presidential motorcade.
Picking up their kids take priority, and the little people (that would be us) can wait.
2. The clueless chatterer
This parent hangs out the window to share a sidewalk-to-car chat with say, the music teacher, about where to rent the child’s instrument for orchestra. Or there’s the parent who spots a mother from their child’s third-grade class and decides that derailing the train of cars behind them is necessary because now is the time to say how much she loved the family’s posted Disneyland pics. Guess what? That’s what Facebook is for.
3. The motorized multitasker
This parent hasn’t yet finished signing the permission slip, handing out the lunch money or putting on their make up. We get it.
We’re not perfect.
But glaring behind those sunglasses in the car behind you is a peeved parent who is still in pajamas that read, “Coffee – because crack is bad.”
But get it together.
4. The slow poke
If you only follow one rule, make it this one.
This is all you have to remember. Ready?
Pull forward when its your turn.
5. The I-am-pretending-I-didn’t-know dimwit
I, personally, have the patience of a monk the first week, as my hand only lightly taps the horn a handful of times.
Anyone of us could have missed the directional, bright orange cones or the signs with arrows or the teachers with arms working like a New York traffic cop.
But after that?
That shrug as if to say I-didn’t-know there was no cutting in line, that you can’t park the car in line and leave it, or drive the wrong direction through the lot, is all bad acting and bull crap.
You know. And even worse? You just don’t care.
So when you have your blinker and attempt to edge in front of me, and you’re running late, and collecting your progeny is only the first in a million things you have to do that day in addition to donating your kidney, I’ll remember.