BlackHart v. Minivan Bandit: We Meet Again...

We live in a small town. The chance of running into someone you know the second you step out onto the front porch is so high that I invariably question whether I should sneak out in my pajamas in the morning to grab the newspaper off the driveway. With the economy currently in the tank, the town is sorely lacking in retail establishments so we all shop in the same places. Walking into the post office is like attending a social event. Running into the Minivan Bandit was, therefore, inevitable. The surprising part was that I never suspected I would actually discover her identity or come face-to-face with her.

(Let me bring you up to speed on the so-called Minivan Bandit.) While attempting to drive through the pick-up lane at the local elementary school one afternoon I managed to breach some unwritten code in the Child Retrieval Handbook. I'm still not certain what code it was but the driver of the minivan behind me wasn't happy about it. She yelled at me through the driver's side window. I ignored her. She continued to yell at me as the line of cars in front of me inched forward. I continued to ignore her until I'd reached the head of the line and my daughter scrambled into the backseat. At that point, I heard real-live swear words issuing forth from the minivan.

Understand, I was the secretary for the parent teacher club at the school and I felt strongly that I should provide a good example by ignoring the outburst. I drew the line at four letter words being shouted within earshot of 300 grade schoolers, however. So when the minivan pulled up beside me I rolled down my own window and said to the driver, "You are on an elementary school campus and your vocabulary is completely out of line here." I must have touched a nerve because the Minivan Bandit tried to shoot me with laser beams from her bulging eyes. She opened her mouth and fire billowed across the pickup lane. I think her head spun around.

The next thing I knew, I'd been called a female dog (yes, the B word) and then an 'effing' female dog before she sped off into the sunset, her hand out the window, proudly flipping me the bird. If you know me, you know I put some truck drivers and most sailors to shame with my colorful language, so its not as though I'd never heard such words before. I do, however, believe there are certain words and behaviors that simply have no place on a grade school campus or when children are present.

I hopped out of my car and demanded to know the identity of the bird-flipper. Not a single teacher, aide or student knew who she was. I went to the office but had no luck. It was like the Minivan Bandit had come out of nowhere. I suspect she spent the next few days driving a different vehicle to the school in an effort to stay under the radar. I don't blame her for that. I'm not certain I could have held my head up after that debacle. I know I couldn't have returned to the pickup lane without feeling like I'd be doing the walk of shame.

I finally saw the minivan again...albeit weeks later. I had no opportunity to confront her though. The bigger issue was how in the world was I supposed to react? My natural instinct was to stomp over to her car and bang on the window and chew her out but I'm not fifteen years old, and I have children to think about, a reputation to think about, not to mention 300 grade schoolers as witnesses to whatever I chose to do. On the one hand, I regretted not being able to act like a fifteen year old. On the other hand, I really didn't have the energy to engage in battle, possibly making the situation worse.

We ended the school year, the Minivan Bandit and I, calling an unspoken truce. I didn't know who she was, she didn't know who I was and we pretended to ignore each other, though I knew she paid close attention when I was in view. I could almost feel her eyes following me behind her dark sunglasses. I willed myself to treat her as I would treat any other parent in the pickup lane, but mumbled insults under my breath until my daughter climbed into the car. The year ended without incident. She'd had the last word (the middle finger) and I'd just have to live with it. I promptly forgot about her.

My younger daughter attends preschool two miles away from the elementary school. Its a difficult preschool to be accepted at. Rumor has it that the waiting list is so long that pregnant women have been known to turn in applications without filling in the sex or name of the future student, seeing as how the fetus has yet to be christened with a name. I knew all the parents, or thought I did, until the four-year-olds' graduated and a whole group of new three-year-olds' replaced them. The school is year-round (though the Summer program is noticeably lacking in ABC recitation and there is an abundance of art and water play) so I quickly began meeting new parents.

I pulled up to the gate one day, parked behind a blue minivan and hopped out of my car just in time to pass a sunglassed lady holding the hand of a tiny, three-year-old. I couldn't place her at first. It was her friendly smile I didn't recognize. I suppose the sight of my car gave me away, because I've never seen a smile vanish so fast. I knew then it was the Bandit. I could have said or done anything at that point. I could have flipped her the bird in retaliation, I could have scowled or berated or critisized. Instead, I discovered that being fifteen years old wasn't all it was cracked up to be. As an adult, I can simply raise an eyebrow and nod in greeting, pass by, and make a much bigger impact than if I jumped up and down and turned the air blue with my bad mouth. Also, I walked away with a measure of dignity. She walked away looking slightly embarrassed.

At fifteen, everything is a personal insult. As an adult, I know that marriage, children, finances, job stressors and a host of other things can turn a perfectly normal, well-adjusted woman into a nut job. It doesn't have a darned thing to do with me. I just happened to be the one she lashed out at, probably because she'd been dealing with toddler tantrums or a cranky boss all day. Not a great justification for her scene, but as a fellow mom, I feel compelled to give her a pass on this one.

The new school year is going to begin soon. I'll continue to pretend I don't recognize her and hopefully, she'll do the same. In the meantime, if anyone knows anything about pickup lane protocol, shoot it my way. I'm not comfortable being the victim of road rage unless I know why I'm being targeted. Makes me paranoid.

Mer