My freak quotient, revisited

What is is about people on power trips and me? Is there some sort of odor I’m emitting that triggers their inner Napoleon (Bonapart, not Dynamite)?

I took the kids to swim class at the Y this morning. You have to give them your card to get a lock for the lockers, but they lost my card last week so I have a “temporary card”. When I checked in, I had a whole conversation with the lady at the desk about this: has my card turned up? (she looked through her little box…an amazing amount of people have lost their cards, but mine was not in the little box) when will the machine be working again to make me a new one? etc., etc. My point here is that I HAD A CONVERSATION WITH THIS LADY IN WHICH WE MADE EYE CONTACT AND TALKED.

10 minutes later, my kids were merrily paddling about the pool. It’s, like 1067 degrees in there and I was not created to be able to survive on Mars, so I stepped back out into the lobby for a couple of minutes. I forgot my water bottle, so I went down to the end of the lobby to see how much a bottle of water cost. Deciding that was complete robbery, I started walking back towards the entrance to the pool/sauna area.

Here’s where things went wrong. Maybe it was the heat that made me smell or something and her little tenticles went “beep, beep, beep…there’s someone who needs a good dressing down!”
Anyway, my conversation WITH THE VERY SAME LADY I HAD TALKED TO 10 MINUTES BEFORE went like this:

Napoleon: “Excuse me, miss, is there something we can help you with?”
Me: “no”
Napoleon: “Only members are alound in the YMCA”
Me: “o.k.”
Napoleon: “You can’t go back there, miss”
Me: (what’s up with the ‘miss’ bit? my mom used to call me ‘little missy’ all the time when she was really pissed off, I don’t really take to that tone extremely well in my adult years) “my kids are in swim class”
Napoleon: “WELL! I didn’t know that. When I ask you where you are going, YOU need to inform me!”

Seriously weird. I need to adopt a more authoritarian countenance somehow. It can’t include wearing high heels, though. I gave those up after falling off the porch 9 months pregnant with Zoe, carring 2 year old Olivia. (We’ll talk about my grace issues some other day)

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