My Kingdom For A Parking Space – The Grand Finale
A while back I wrote about the great Parking Wars of 2008 and how our current union representative was as helpful and well, representative of us as a pile of poo. Yea, I said it. If you haven’t yet read those posts, shame on you…but now is you opportunity to go and catch up. We’ll wait…
Long story short, I found it horrifying that not only would I be expected to work in an environment in which 85% of the adults make my job harder, but now I would get to add the joy of searching for parking prior to dealing with said adults. Now I have been one to cruise the block when a good Kanye song comes on, but please, EVERY morning? Uh, no. Just no.
So after much turmoil, bouts of high blood pressure, gossiping and general unprofessional-ness, the parking passes arrived, and in a move of sheer brilliance our principal, The Visionary, laid the smack down on a bunch of douche bags who lied, cheated and stole their way to a new parking pass. Well, they still got passes, but I’m hoping at the very least that they are embarrassed.
Let me back up a bit and explain. When we requested passes at our B.S. meeting with our union representative, we had to submit our names, addresses, and estimated daily mileage. This genius plan resulted in allegedly mature adults lying about possessing a driver’s license, pretending that they own cars and pulling numbers of miles out of their you-know-whats. We even uncovered a plot put in place by our very own union representative so that she would be ensured a parking pass despite the fact that she lives a whopping .5 miles from school. (She had one of the classroom aides request a pass FOR her because this particular woman lives about a billion miles from school, but is dropped off by her husband every day as she does not possess a license herself. Conveniently, we were not require to prove that we hold a valid driver’s license or actually own a car when we requested a parking pass. Perhaps because The Visionary expected everyone to conduct themselves like rational adults…dumbass. I know that sounds harsh, but it had to be said…I mean, he should know better by now. These are the same people who stuff free rolls into their pockets at staff luncheons and excuse their laziness on the job with the Magical Phrase of Losers Everywhere: “that’s not in my contract.” What did he expect them to do??)
Day after day we awaited the arrival of the passes and the culmination of our petty drama. And lo and behold, they arrived (from where, I don’t know… don’t even ask me to get started on that one) and we were all emailed The List of the Lucky 17. In case you are holding your breath, I did get a parking pass. (Go get a cocktail and celebrate…again, we’ll wait. I can always wait for a good champagne coolie or whatever it is you are drinking these days.)
However, in an interesting twist of events, everyone was actually exposed for what an asshat they really are because along with names of the Lucky 17, The Visionary also sent around a chart which included the names of everyone who requested a pass, their REPORTED mileage, their ACTUAL mileage and, my favorite column, the DIFFERENCE between those two numbers.
Shut the front door! (My new favorite expression and way out of cursing…it works best when yelled emphatically. Go on, try it. Feels good, right?)
To give you an example of the glaring d-bag-ness that was revealed, one individual reported that she lives 55 miles away, when in fact her distance from school is a mere 22 miles. Wrong double digits, sweetheart. Another one of my favorites was the group of people who requested a pass, yet live less than one mile from school. LESS THAN ONE MILE. (Go ahead, yell it – SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!)
To wrap it all up, I got a pass. And so did our union representative. (She argued that her seniority was more salient than the fact that some of our newer teachers live 40 or more miles from school.) What can we take away from this little saga? For me, it just shows that small victories are worth celebrating (champagne coolies for everyone…I can still drive to work!) and that there will always be herds of d-bags with whom I will have to deal. But at least sometimes…rare times, EVERYone can see just what d-nuts they really are.