Of Crab Hats and School Traffic

I take The Boy to school every day at 8:00 a.m., which is the earliest you can drop off without having to do before school care.  Last year, one of the things I liked best about the morning drive was the military precision with which the drop-off was coordinated.  If you arrived before 8, you simply waited at the dropoff point until the school doors flew open--at exactly 8:00 a.m. On The Dot--and a serious, matronly woman armed with teeny tiny traffic cones emerged, followed by a petite blonde whose only job was to stand at the far end of the dropoff point and wave at you as you left.

The matronly woman, who I deemed "the cone nazi" early on, would position the traffic cones to ensure that you couldn't break ranks and pull around the cars in front of you in line.  And in case you're wondering, "but what about the pokey people who dawdle in the cars," don't.  There was always an assistant principal on hand, and if you hesitated too long in your Official Child Deployment, she would yank open your car door and all but toss your offspring and his or her belongings in the direction of the door. Then the cone nazi would give you the "move along" signal, and the little blonde chick would wave cheerily in your direction as you motored off to work.

As I am not a fan of either traffic or people who can't get their crap together in a timely matter, I've gotta say that school dropoff was AWESOME.  And I assumed it would be the same way this year.

Alas, apparently traffic duty is only a year-long sentence for the teachers at The Boy's school.

This year, I arrived at school expecting teeny tiny traffic cones, an army of assistant principals and an impatient cone nazi, but instead, I was confronted with an absence of cones, and a chick with a crab on her head.

Seriously. A crab. A large, plushy, crab. In the form of a hat.  Perched atop the head of the woman standing in the drop-off area.

The blonde chick was still there, but this year she was sheepish and armed with a baton with streamers on the end, the twin of which resided in the hand of crab-head lady.

The Boy informed me that Madame Crab Cranium was the drama teacher.

I heaved a sigh but kept silent.  Perhaps she would defy the stereotype of breezy, airy, anything goes, free-spirit, disorganized, drama person.

The next day I was greeted by a traffic cone - but it was only in the form of a hat.  Then there was a lobster, then a wedge of swiss, then a jaunty straw boater topped with random flora, then something that might have been a wizard's hat, or a whale.

Gone were the traffic cones.  Gone was the punctuality.  Gone was the orderly way in which traffic proceeded through drop-off.

And after yet ANOTHER day wondering how the hell somebody managed to actually PARK THEIR SUV IN THE DROPOFF LANE AND LEAVE IT UNATTENDED, and further, WHY A MOTHER CAN'T JUST GIVE THE KID A HIGH-FIVE AND SAY "SEE YA!" INSTEAD OF RE-ENACTING THE DEPARTURE SCENE FROM LORD OF THE RINGS, my high hopes were dashed.

While crab hats and streamers may be a balm for the soul, they are cold comfort to a harried mom in a Subaru with serious patience issues.