Today was pool day. After nagging the kids all morning to get their chores done, we finally headed out a little after 1. I couldn’t find the sunscreen I just bought, so that meant a minor detour to the PX. Note to Class Six: stock sunscreen please. I should have realized the day was going to take a turn for the worse when I couldn’t find my usual brand, and then when I realized there were only 3 lanes open, all of them 6 people deep. Come On!! The express lane was anything but.
I already had my annoyed face on when we reached the outdoor pool; parking lot packed, but what did I expect on a 96* day? There was a short-lasting reprieve when I found a vacant spot in the first row. But as we hauled our heavy, towel-and-new-sunblock- packed bag to the entry, we were met with disappointment. “Sorry, ma’am, we’re at full capacity” says the lifeguard.
Damn. I really wanted to soak in some rays, and enjoy the warm weather and cool-ish water.
I contemplated waiting, as I noticed quite a few people leaving, but then I overheard a gross conversation about one of the bathrooms having some septic issues. Uh… no thanks. While the lifeguards tried to figure out who’s issue this was, and whether or not they were going to have to close, we were told that the indoor pool would be opening in 30 minutes for open swim. Looks like I won’t need that new tube of white cream after all. Go figure.
So back to the car, and over to the new gym. As we entered, we were “greeted” with an unpleasant, ” open swim doesn’t start until 3″.
“Yes, I know”, I say to grumpy lady who works the front desk. “does that mean I can’t pay until then? And can we wait here until three (20 minutes)”?
” I don’t know” she says, staring at me. After a breif pause, ” You’ll need to discuss that with them, you don’t pay here” she says, clearly annoyed with me, or something or someone.
I’m new to this post. This is a new gym. Like, it’s newer than we are to Fort Carson. There are large print signs posted on the front desk that state ” small bills only”. Why would I assume you pay elsewhere? And how hard is it to explain this? She could have handed me a schedule of pool hours, or pool prices. She could have smiled. One of the other two individuals working the desk could have offered up more information, or better service, to help me out.
“OK” I say dryly and herd my kiddos towards the pool area. I then hear her say the exact same thing, in the exact same tone to the guy behind me. Nice. Is this what my MWR dues and fees go towards? Being treated like crap? Money well spent.
So, now I’m feeling a little gun-shy, and I have the kids wait in the hall as I timidly open the pool room door. I have no idea where to go or who to talk to. I’ve never been here before. And the front desk was staffed with a bunch of meanies.
There is gal wrapped in a towel who asks if I’m here for open swim.
“I am”, I say and as I start to ask her my plethora of questions, I have to stop myself and ask first if she works there. The smile and friendly attitude threw me off.
She kindly gives me the low-down, and says we are more than welcome to wait there until three. I actually contemplated snitching on front desk lady, but figured it was old news. Was that so hard?!?!
Indoor pool is fun. Well, fun-ish. It’s cooler, there’s no sun, and there is a ton of face splashing. But a pool is a pool, and we enjoy our hour or so.
I so wish I could end my story on a good note here. We went to the pool and lived happily ever after. But I was on post. And shit always goes down on post.
The kids talked me into a BK Icee. It’s a HOT day, our plans were re-arranged, people were rude. I relent. At the window, the lady hands we our Icee’s dripping through the drink cardboard carry thingy, puddles of melted cola splashing all over me, all over my kid. Um… really? As we try to sop up the mess with a beach towel, the window lady shouts the total to me. I’m like a foot away from you, and you can clearly see the cola dripping down my arm, my hands covered. Do you really want my sticky, wet Hamilton right now ? There’s no one behind me. I hand her the 10 spot and ask for napkins, as nicely as possible. She hands me my change, a wad of STRAWS, shuts her window and walks away. What.The.Hell.
I pull forward, trying to calm myself and contemplate dragging my kids into the BK, in their wet swimmy suits, to bitch this lady out. But it’s hot, and we have an extra Icee and I’m already coverd in sticky syrup. Let it go, I think.
And as I start to pull forward through the parking spot, some a-hole in a late model POS swerves around me and the twenty open spaces, only to cut me off and park to my left, squeezing into a space between three huge cars. And she glares at me the whole time.
OK, have I done something to everyone in the free world today? Was I offensive en masse? Do I know this trick? Maybe she was someone I blogged about?
I’m so frustrated, and totally annoyed by her terrible driving in a parking lot, that I shoot her a look. And that’s when I noticed her friend in the back mouth “fuck you bitch” to me. TO ME!
Ok, really? You (finger quotes) ladies swerved around my car doing well over 20 in a parking lot. You (finger quotes) ladies cut ME off. And now you’re gonna get all expletive in my direction. With my kids in the car? Super dooper classy.
So I made sure to look directly at trashville as I exited. And she stared right back at me, doing the “what” thing. As if her fat ass (piled into cutoffs and a bikini top, mind you, you know, because that’s what you wear to eat inside BK) was really going to do anything other than act hard. What’s she going to tell her friends?
“Yeah, this mom with her kids gave us a look, so I got all in her face with my eff bombs and then I punched her”. Who get’s an inflated ego over shit like that? If one of my friends told me a story like that, even without the violence, I’d ask them how old they were, and shame them on Facebook with their bullshit toddler story.
So, her “what” continued as I drove out of the parking lot, and through the green light. I made sure she knew I was looking at HER. It made me want to back my car up, get out and ask her a few things.
Things such as:
Did you look in the mirror before leaving the house?
Were you aware that my kids were in the car?
Is your husband in the Army? Because if he is, you should behave better on post.
Is your husband deployed? If so, do you think he’s over there sweating his ass off, risking his life so that you can act like your on the Jerry Springer show?
Are you aware that you’re a role model, not just for girls, not just for other military wives, but for your country? You are the example of the military spouse that the civilian world sees. YOU may not care, but I would hope that your husband does, and I would hope that the other military spouses you surround yourself with do.
What would you have done if I would have backed my car up, told my kids to cover their eyes and given you the punch in the face you derserve?
Better yet, what if I would have let YOU assault ME, then called the MP’s?
What if I would have just called the MP’s anyways? Your behavior warranted it. Your actions were threatening to me and to my kids. You don’t act hard in a post parking lot. You have no idea who I am. What if I was a soldier? What if I was the wife of the Provost Marshall? What if I was the NCO in your husbands company?
If you want to act like that, take your shit and your trash attitude over to WalMart. At least I won’t ever run into you.
But I hope I do. I hope I do run into you again. When my kids aren’t in the car. Because I WILL say something to you. Because as mad as I am about whatever you mouthed to me, I’m more mad about the shame you bring to the Army. So let this be a warning to all you spouses and soldiers and civilian workers out there who want to act like you don’t have a standard to live by. You do. And I’m the new standard police.
The Manic Military Wife 