Pick Up: Elementary School Edition

Pick Up: Elementary School Edition

Well, hidy-ho!!! Fuck – I cannot get that Mr. Hanky song out of my head…..

“It’s Mr. Hanky, the Christmas Poo – small and brown, he comes from you…..”

Yep – I’m that mom. I’m the mom who, every morning at the breakfast table, says or does something so ridiculously inappropriate, and then giggles uncontrollably with our two boys as my hubby looks on, head hung low, defeated. They have three minutes to leave the house for school, but we’re too busy making faces at each other and saying potty words…..

But alas, they do leave the house, mostly just in the nick of time, and then I go about my day until it’s time for me to pick them up….. which brings me to today’s topic: Pick Up.

Oh… pick up. What a “fun” experience THAT is. There are just so many aspects of pick up that confound my mind, that I feel now is the time to call some of these bitch-ass parents out. And I shall do this in my favorite way…. CATEGORIZATION. Oh yes…. Shall we begin? Okay, for the purposes of today’s post, I will be using random descriptive words as the headings, and then, if you managed to graduate 3rd grade, you’ll hopefully pick up what I’m putting down. Now, without further ado, allow me to present to you…..

The CaraVAN

I happen to own a van, which comes in handy when you have three kids or are just too fucking lazy of a parent to bother helping your kids into their seats. I happen to fit into both categories. Jealous, anyone?

Anyhoo, every day when I drive up to the school, I swear there’s an assembly line of auto parts being physically put together as I wait. EVERY FUCKING VAN IS A MOTHERFUCKING HONDA. Including mine…. But I pimped mine out – Black rims and blacked out windows. And I blast hip-hop and house all day long, so even through the sea of HONDRONES waiting to get their kids, you can’t miss me if you try. And if you do happen to overlook my car, you’re a fucking liar. I saw you look at me. It’s cool. We don’t need to be friends, but apparently only ONE of us is a human being, because apparently only ONE of us knows how to be polite…. which brings me to the…..


Medically speaking, this is a fear of the heart or heart disease(s). Metaphorically speaking, however, this is apparently the fear of being polite and WAVING. Who knew!?!?!?! Who could have known, in their wildest dreams, that there are people out there physically incapable of raising their hands or arms an entire 9 inches to wave hello. It makes no sense! I don’t see you struggling as you remove the lint from your friend’s shirt, or to flirt with the dad next to you. You smack your hand against his chest like he just told the best joke EVER. If you make eye contact with someone you know, and you wave – and I don’t mean the crazy waves you see at the airport when sorority sisters are reunited after a loooooooooong weekend apart. No, I’m referring to the universal term for, “I see you, I acknowledge your existence and I hope you have a nice day.” Well guess what? You obviously DON’T want me to have a nice day, so to you cardiophobics I say, “Go fuck yourselves.” Waving is not that hard. Just pretend you’re about to praise Hitler. You probably already do praise him, so then just act like I’m him and say hi. Would you NOT say hello to your fuhrer, even if said mentor was Hitler? I think not. Fucking bigots. At the very least, you could manage a smile. Hell, maybe you are smiling, and the Botox and fillers are physically preventing you from curving the corners of your mouth. If that’s the case, call my doctor – he’s awesome.

But you wanna know which non-wavers REALLY piss me off? The rearview mirror non-wavers. Allow me to jump forward for a brief second. At our children’s school, there are two lanes that cars use to enter and exit. This method seems to work fairly well, until you actually have your children in your possession and attempt to exit the cluster-fuck of vans and sports cars. Oh, did I forget to mention that? You have two choices when it comes to the type of car you drive…. a van, or a sports car. If you see a sedan, take a photo. They are an endangered species at our school.

Anyway, back to the main point. Once you have your kids, you have two choices – go left or right. You are not allowed to just go straight. The vast majority of families live to the left, so naturally, you’d prefer to be in that lane…. but truth be told – THEY BOTH SUCK. If you’re in the left lane, you have to deal with the onslaught of other vehicles attempting to invade your lane, while you’re stuck behind 4 cars at the stop sign, just trying to get the fuck out of school but are prevented from doing so by the crossing guard, who, if I didn’t know any better, has a personal vendetta against me. I swear – they’re fucking psychic. “Oh look, it’s Mrs. Robinson…. hmmmm I don’t see any kids who need to cross the street. Oh! I know! I’LL cross the street by myself!”

But that’s not even the part that truly pisses me off. It’s when the car in the right lane puts on their blinker, I let them in, and then I wait…. I wait and I wait and it never comes. The universal sign for “thank you”. RAISE YOUR HAND AND WAVE INTO THE REARVIEW MIRROR, ASSHOLE! I DIDN’T HAVE TO LET YOU IN.” In fact, now that I see the car, I make a mental note NOT to let them in the next time… But I’m a sucker. I always let them in. But not the asshole behind them who tries to sneak in, too. Motherfucker I see you!What? You think you’re just going to ‘pretend’ you’re HITCHED to the back of the car I just let in? Jigga, pleez. Nice try. Looks like someone needs a reminder rhyme….

No cuts, no butts, no alligator guts.”


No cuts, no butts, no alligator guts.”

Are You Trying To Get Run Over?

Make up your minds!!!! Are you crossing the street or parking lot or two-lane carpool or what?!?! You literally look like a deer in headlights. I’m not referring to the kids… well, that’s bullshit. I’m totally also referring to the kids – but only the older ones. Not only are you NOT looking both ways before you cross the street, but you’re not even fucking CROSSING!!!!!!! You’re stopping in the middle of the cross walk and staring at all the cars or even worse – you’re tying your shoes. It didn’t occur to you to tie your shoes before you, oh…. I dunno… RAN DOWN THE STAIRS to the sidewalk?!?Maybe you’re looking for your mommy. Maybe you’re looking for your friends – in either case, move the fuck out of the way! My kids are waiting for me, and I don’t have time to sit while you decide whether or not the guy asking you to help him find his dog is legit. Just be a good citizen and help the guy out. He’s obviously a nice guy. His van even says “Free Candy” on the side. Duh – totally trustworthy. Just please keep going. This bitch has places to be – namely, home so I can hide in my room.

Invisible Drivers

I remember the first time I saw what I thought was an invisible driver. I was so freaked out and awestruck that I took out my phone and started to take pictures. But then something rather strange happened. Out of NOWHERE, this mom climbs IN TO the driver’s seat, obviously unaware that she was physically crushing the invisible driver, and then get this? The bitch straight DROVE off with a kid in the back. Can you believe that shit?

Seriously though, don’t be “that asshole“. Don’t get in one of the drive-thru lanes and then park and exit your vehicle in order to get your child. Don’t you think that’s what we’d ALL like to do? Now that you’ve abandoned your vehicle, the 30 cars in line behind you are now stuck, waiting for your entitled ass to get back into your car and MOVE. If you want to walk up to the school to physically get your child, arrive to school earlier and PARK. You should definitely know how to park. You do it in the carpool lanes all the fucking time. C’mon. You’re being a douche. How can you not know this? Well I’ve got news for you – we all know it, and if you think we’re not all mad-doggin’ you and mumbling insults under our breath, then you’re as dumb as you look.

That’s about all I have to say about the subject at this point; perhaps I’ll add a few more as they pop into my head. Oh, and if you’re interested in reading about the different types of parents I’ve encountered in the past, check out these two posts I wrote last year.



*I considered adding different types of elementary school moms I’ve encountered, but seeing as how I can’t even distinguish them apart from each other (these women need numbered jerseys, I swear) I’ll refrain…. for now.*


Disclaimer: I come with one.

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