There I was, innocently thinking that if I dropped the kids off to their classrooms quickly and went straight to the hall where the play was being held then I'd be in plenty of time to bag a decent seat. How wrong was I? The front rows were strewn with artfully arranged possessions yet devoid of human backsides... bar one Rottweiler-type guard Mom showing her sharpened teeth at anyone sniffing around her patch.
Thinking that the Alpha gang couldn't possibly be bold enough to have 'reserved' the entire two front rows, I shifted the one inch of cardigan stretching into the end seat on the front row and plonked myself down. Foolish me. Before I could draw a ragged breath Rottie Mom was upon me. Displaying an impressive fortune in corrective orthodontry and a fair bit of Botox to boot (although being devoid of expression - and possibly emotion - is an Alpha trademark), the Rottie exclaimed: "Oh I am sorry but you can't possibly sit there. I'm holding these seats for my friends!" Wrongfooted by her booming voice, discomforting invasion of my body space and basilisk stare, I muttered pathetically: "Oh! I didn't realise that you could reserve seats here. How silly of me!" Then cringingly retreated to a lesser seat, muttering crossly as my mind filled with a thousand possibly brilliant retorts.
For anybody else faced with the same hideousness, don't give up like I did and suffer having to record the back of someone's head while the Alpha b*tches wave smugly to their equally hideous rugrats from the front row. Here's a spot of ammo (I suggest you keep it in your handbag for emergency situations):
- "Hey, who made you God?"*
- Stare back rudely and demand: "What did you say? Don't be so foolish! You can't reserve seats here! It's not the bloody opera you know!" Then sit down firmly and refuse to be moved.
- "I didn't realise you worked here! In that case, I really must speak to you about the shocking state of the girl's toilets in the Junior block. Can you ensure that they're cleaned more often as it's a real health hazard.... (keep talking very fast and for as long as possible until her eyes glaze over and she goes away)"
- "I'm so pleased you're here. I wanted to talk to you about the fact that your son has been teaching my daughter the most shocking swear words - I don't know where he got them from as you don't look like the sort of woman to use such crude terms. My husband is incredibly cross about it so maybe you can speak to your child before my husband insists that I raise a formal complaint with the headmaster?