Say Whaaaaaaat?

Mrs. Nilan has always been a champion for Hil. She totally gets her. She is a voice of reason in the sometimes chaotic world Hil lives in.  And Hil knows herself.  She will go and find her when she needs a boost of self esteem. A bonus round of Yes-I-Can. A reminder that she can do anything, in spite of the myriad assholes she has in her little life.

And then today, it seems as though the pod people have taken over Mrs. Nilan's body. The Bodysnatchers have run off with her and have left a half-person with no ability to reason in her place. And this half-person has my cell phone number.

So as I am negotiating rush hour traffic, again, with myriad assholes to contend with, and patiently trying to make my way through zoo balloon induced gaper delays (It's a balloon, people! Not the space station crashing into the Earth!) and hoping to get close enough to flip off the driver of the black Suburban who has been straddling two lanes for the last mile, (as though he owns the whole damn road, when we know my mother does) my cell phone rings. I answer, joyfully thinking it is Scott, calling back to tell me one more time that he adores me.

Nope. The Nilan-ator.

She will be seeing Hil in a few minutes, and bless her heart, Hil has picked up extra hall passes for the other girls and empowered them to come speak up for themselves.  She knows the perpetrator (Let's call her Esther) very well. She is sure this is all a misunderstanding. Esther is a really easy, coachable kid. She thinks all it will take is for her to speak with Esther and she will cease and desist the heinous behavior. No muss no fuss, no need to Make a Big Deal.

I nearly slam into the offending Suburban. I tell her I need to get to my office and call her back. I think this is very serious and not a "let's just talk openly and honestly like Girl Scouts and promise to be nice" kind of situation. She says that is fine, Hil is on her way in with the two friends, the little hero.

I get to my office and call Lars.  I tell him about the conversation and he is not at all surprised. He still doesn't seem to see the situation for it's seriousness, and further, says that Esther's mother is a school district teacher and the district will circle their wagons and protect one of their own.  He encourages me to look her up on the district website. We can count on the usual politics from the school officials.

I don't need to look her up. Esther's mother graduated high school with me. We were not friends. I would not have wanted to be. She was a squeaky -clean-goody-two-shoes and not smart. We'd have had little need for one another. I was no rebel, but an occasional beer party and a full roster of A/P classes fed my social circle. Not the dorkus, stay at home and take knitting lessons types.

And further, I don't give one good God damn if she is a district teacher. I don't care if she is the Blessed Mother. Her daughter does not get to violate my daughter on any level just because her mother manages to stay employed in the district with all the other under performers.

I hang up with Lars and take to my email account. Writing is my medium.  And we should just start papering the file now, anyway.