My calves burn; my breath begins to quicken; my feet cramp. I make a mad dash out the door. You may ask what important event I’m heading to that requires me to speed-walk so quickly that I may as well be part of the Olympic speed-walking team. My near-run is fueled by one thing and one thing only: getting to my car and leaving before the parking lot traffic traps me at school for another fifteen minutes.

The number of times I have gotten stuck behind a parent using one of the lanes in the front lot as a pick-up zone should be zero, and yet, it isn’t an uncommon experience. I at least have some respect for the parents who pull into empty parking spots to wait for their child because they aren’t blocking the line, but the parents who feel the need to sit in the middle row of the front lot, blocking the way out for the ever-growing line of students desperate to go home, deserve no respect. I’ve only been driving for a year and a half, and I even know to not block the flow of traffic.

While my main gripe is with the parents, their children aren’t without blame. I’ve spent nearly 10 minutes stuck behind a car idling in the middle of the parking lot, waiting for their kid to get in the car. If you know your parent is going to be obstructing traffic to pick you up, I better see you running to the car, not chatting with your bros as the line of angry teenagers grows. Not to mention, both the parent and their spawn seem to have no shame. They act like I am the problem when they are the ones parked illegally in the middle of the road.

My last period is in the basement, and since I cannot change the drivers around me, I really only have one option left. So if you happen to see someone nearly sprinting towards the front lot the second the last bell rings, no you didn’t.