Setting: First speech pathology appointment at Conner's New Speech Place. We are in a classroom-turned-office-space in the middle of a typical brick building for communications courses and whatnot. This same building has a "child development"center down the hall - so it's easy to say this place sees it's fair share of children.
There are about 7 chairs in the waiting room, so it's small.
As many know, university parking is a STEW POT OF SUCK, and on the first day, I did not have University Level Access For Vehicle Stability Placement (read: parking pass). So, I parked where I could, hauled butt in the FREEZING COLD and 15-20 MPG WINDS, unloaded two icicle children and hiked 7.89 trillion miles to the speech center.
Bitchy Lady: Where are you parked?
Me: In the parking lot with the other cars (lol)
Bitchy Lady: Well, here's the pass. Put it in your window so you don't get a Fake Ticket.
Me: Um. IT'S COLD AS YOUR CROTCH OUTSIDE AND YOU WANT ME TO HIKE BACK OUT WITH BOTH CHILDREN, YOU WHORE. (read: "ok. thanks")
I exited with said children, hiked backwards uphill through the snow, placed my Special Permit in the windshield and returned to fill out 15,000 sheets of the same 6 questions, only reworded.
That day, the same lady managed to tell me that I couldn't USE MY PORTABLE DVD PLAYER TO ENTERTAIN MY 2-YEAR-OLD IN THE OFFICE ON A MORE THAN REASONABLE VOLUME LEVEL. I hate her whole life.
Bitchy Whore Lady With Way Too Many Thorns In Her Vag tells me:
- To keep my 2-year-old "more quiet" because "this is an office"
- That she doesn't "do" insurance paperwork and I should ask again... "later". SERIOUSLY, MIGHT I SUGGEST YOU THINK OF A BETTER ANSWER TO MY INSURANCE-RELATED QUESTIONS THAN "MAYBE LATER.
But... the speech doctor lady was nice and I liked the program, so we stayed with this place.
Then today, I bring Conner in for his weekly lesson. Chase is being EXCEPTIONALLY UNRULY, more than normal because I have to wake him from his afternoon nap 20 minutes early to make these appointments.
To calm him, I bring his typical 3:30 treat - some fruit snacks.
Bitchy Vamp Of Doom: *manages to pry lard butt from swivel chair* Excuse, ma'am. You can't have food in here.
Me: *evil "eff off" face* Um. Where am I supposed to feed him his snack?
Bitchy Vamp Of Doom: Well. There's a courtyard outside with some seating.
I grab up: my phone, Chase's snack, my keys, Chase's shoes that he managed to remove (because he always does), Conner's work folder (read: a billion items) AND MY WIGGLY 27 LB. CHILD and "help" myself to this "courtyard o' snack paradise".
It's next to a parking lot. With a 2-year-old. Boy. WHO NEEDS HIS SNACK.
EXPLAIN TO ME, POINTLESS RULE NAZI, WHY MY TODDLER CAN'T HAVE A NOT-MESSY-IN-THE-LEAST FRUIT CHEW THAT I WAS ADMINISTERING TO HIM IN A NOT-AT-ALL-MESSY MANNER THAT WOULD NORMALLY TAKE AN ENTIRE 2 MINUTES IN YOUR PRECIOUS PRETEND DOCTOR'S OFFICE, BUT INSTEAD HAD TO MORPH INTO A WRESTLING MATCH IN THE COURTYARD (IN 45 DEGREE WEATHER AND 20 MPH WINDS) FOR A HALF HOUR.
I'm not opposed to rules (only allergic), so I will admit this: as with many buildings, there was a sign that read "no food or drink". Perhaps, here are a few instances where said rule should be adhered to:
AND MAYBE, I'd understand your Nazi ways a little better if you worked in say....
(Lions LOVE fruit snacks. Trust me)
BUT NO, Slutty McWhoreFace, it's a office in which you've:
- Banned my portable DVD player
- Asked me to keep my child silent
- And are likely to enforce the "NO CELL PHONES, PLEASE" sign I noticed in the hallway.
Basically, in summary -