Oh no, she DIDN’T. . !

I almost got into a fight. Ghetto-style. Yes, my 45-year-old-self just said that.

We were meeting friends at Aquatica, and managed to be the first ones in line to enter (went straight to the park after dropping off the little one at camp in the morning). There were two sets of lines to get through: the bag check and the actual line to show your passes and go through the gates.

It was about 8:45am, no big deal. I had coffee, and it wasn’t too hot at that point. Kinda sucked having to stand around, but what else were we going to do? Other people had started arriving anyways (more crazies like us), and we needed to make sure we grabbed enough shaded chairs for our group.

The bag check opened at 9am, and we sailed right through. Then, as we were walking to the entry point where you show your tickets, this swarm of about ten children ran right past us, and tried to scan their tickets and get in ahead of the rest of the line. The workers let us all know that they would check tickets and let people in at 10am.

Instead of running back to their parents, though, the kids stayed right where they were. In front of me. In front of all of the people who, like me, had waited in line since 8:45am.

A lady behind us shook her head. “That’s what they do. The parents send their kids to run ahead since they don’t have bags to check, and then they have them get all the chairs.”

“It’s not fair,” the guy next to us said. “We were all here first.”

One parent tried to tell the staff kids working at the podiums the situation, but let’s face it: they don’t get paid enough to deal with this. They did nothing anyways.

Well, things don’t change if you don’t do something.

So I did.

“Hey, kids? I’m sorry, you’ll have to go back and wait in line with your parents . . .”

“Oh, no, you are NOT talking to MY child . . .!”

And if you can imagine the finger waving and the woman attached to that finger? Yup. Looked exactly like that. She was about 50 people back. She also had an identically dressed friend, two women in black tanks and aviator sunglasses who obviously visited Cross-Fit. I was about to get my ass kicked.

“Hey, listen. They cut the line. It’s not really fair to all these people who were here first.”

“Ma’am? Ma’am? We were going to wait for you to go ahead since you were in front of us.”

This came from a 12-year-old kid in the cutter’s group. A kid.

“What are you talking about? You tried to get in ahead of me before they told you no, and you’re still here instead of being back with your mom . . .”

“Are you talking to MY child?!”

“Listen,” I said (I really didn’t want to get physical, they’d kill me), “I am not going to do anything here. I’m just pointing out that what you’re doing isn’t fair to all these other people. I’m not going to stop you. I’m not going to touch your kid. You do you, boo. Just know that everyone here was in line first, and what they’re doing? It’s just not cool.”

And then I turned around.

“Thank you,” the guy behind me whispered.

“Mom? Why are you shaking?”

I’m freaking out, wondering if those moms are going to find me sometime during the day in the bathroom and have it out with me.

But the kids went back with their moms.

So, I kinda won. Kinda not. I did feel a bit Karen-ish and like a grumbly old get-off-my-lawn type, but I did have the backs of all the other folks behind me.

And I guess I earned the respect of my kid, if nothing else.

“You did the right thing, mom.”

And that’s all that matters.

Well, that . . .and I felt also like a bit of a bad ass.