Obstacles

One morning recently, I was running late (big surprise) but managed to get everyone piled into the van with just enough time to get the kids to day-care before they lock up the doors. At that point you’re considered especially late for the day, and while you can still drop off your children to the center, they aren’t too pleased if you don’t phone in ahead of time. I had ten minutes to spare and REALLY didn’t want to make that call…again.

Of course, as I turned off my street I quickly found my route was interrupted by construction. There were cones blocking part of an adjacent road, as well as a portion of my lane just past the adjoining street. There was a town police officer directing traffic. As I approached there were three cars waiting in front of me and the officer was allowing traffic in the other lanes to move in turn. He then allowed my lane to move, but failed to tell the lane with traffic in the opposite direction to stop. The car at the head of my line approached the one lane and stopped halfway through the construction, as though uncertain there would be enough room to pass. It was a tight fit, but he could have made it. By this point no one was moving, so the officer allowed the lane opposite to proceed around the confused car. He then allowed the cars waiting on the perpendicular street go AGAIN. While I sat waiting my turn, the cars behind me had begun to pile up. After completely clearing the queue in both of the other directions the officer finally let us through.

As I exclaimed, “Finally!” and began to move, the lead car stopped when it reached the officer. Apparently this individual was an acquaintance, because they then began to have a conversation that included lots of smiles, head nods, and open laughter. Clearly, this person was not asking directions. My blood pressure mounted as I watched minutes tick by on my dashboard clock. I started screaming in the best language possible (still somewhat cognizant of my children in the backseat) to the closed windows. I fought every desire to start beeping at the guy, and just sat. Total time at the road block was 5 minutes. That’s a long time to wait if you think about it. With 5 minutes remaining to get to my destination 10 minutes away, I was finally on the move again. I continued to mutter, completely frustrated by this officer’s poor traffic direction and minor abuse of power; and of my fear of openly complaining about it.

After getting through the construction, I calmed down and focused in on what my daughter was repeating in the back seat: “Who are you yelling at Mama?” Without much thought to my words I explained to Sofia that I was angry with the police officer because he was not being very nice. Sofia’s response to me, clearly what she thought was in support of my feelings, was that she doesn’t like Police Officers because they are “not nice”. Great. Get that Bad Mommy Award nomination ready again. I tried to explain to her that Police Officers are very nice, helpful people who keep us safe, and that the officer I was yelling at was just not ACTING nice. No jazz. She was not changing her mind at that juncture. She continued to tell me for the rest of the ride about how much she does not like the Police, despite my many attempts to change the subject. Before long I had reached our destination. Figuring she’d forget about it soon enough (internally praying that she would not share her recent revelation with her teachers), I kissed her good-bye and set out for the rest of my day.

When I got home from work later that evening, my mother in law took one look at me and asked, “Why are police officers not nice?” Drat.