43: Lunch lady gets the smack down:

The lunch lady at our school is a bitch. Not the cook lady, but the lady who takes the money. She doesn't realize that the reason she is there is to ensure that all the kids get a lunch. She is such a had-nosed bitch that if a kid doesn't have enough money for a lunch, she will give them an office pass to go call home for money. The obvious solution, at least to those of us who actually care about the kids getting food, is to just allow their account to go negative for a while, until the parents are contacted.

This lady doesn't think so. She caused one of my better tards to completely lose it today.

Lindsay's account was 35 cents short of a lunch. Thirty-five fucking pennies. The lunch lady throws an office pass her way and tells her to go call home.

This incenses me. NO ONE talks to MY tards in such a rude manner, especially not some bitch-ass low-rent money counter.

I snatch the office pass from Lindsay and hand it back to the lady, telling her "Lindsay will get her lunch now, and we will call home later."

She says no, that the balance must be paid right then. Lindsay is in tears at this point. She is hugging me, hysterically crying. She looks at the lunch lady and, in between crying fits, tells her that her mom spent her last ten dollars on scratch tickets, and none of them were winners.

This revelation breaks my heart, and the fact that the bitch-ass lunch lady had made Lindsay say this, in front of everyone, made me angry beyond reason. I lost it.

I take off one of my shoes, and slam it down on her little table. I tell her that she may keep my shoe until I am able to retrieve 35 cents from my classroom.

All my tards are staring at me, completely silent. Lindsay has stopped crying and is staring at me. I tell her to go get her lunch, that it was OK.

All the tards, for possibly the first time ever, are completely silent.

Lindsay continues through the line, and the lunch lady rings up all my kids. She then looks at me and says that if the 35 cents wasn't in her hand by 1:00, that I would have to wait and get my shoe back the next day. I rolled my eyes at her and muttered the usual "Oh, please."

We get back to the room, and the kids can't stop questioning me about my shoe. You'd think I was William Wallace the way they were dancing around me, recounting the incident.

I call for the principal and tell him what had just occurred. I tell him that her behavior is not OK with me. He agrees, and I ask if he would take her the 35 cents, and bring me back my shoe. He does, and also has a little talk with her.

No one fucks with Riti Sped’s tards.