It's one thing to talk back to your mother, but it's another thing to talk back to a security officer.
Like yesterday. I had to go downtown for a training. Unfortunately, each of our district's various buildings are all in really bad parts of town. You know, the part of town where it's not unusual to see shady looking characters drinking out of a paper bag, or the occasional drug deal go down.
Also? Parking is tricky.... especially when you have two GIANT crates of very heavy confidential folders you've been asked by your supervisor to drop by. So I decided to park in the closest lot, the one that I think is reserved for all the supervisors. I laboriously lugged up one crate of folders.
As I was carrying the second load, OBVIOUSLY struggling with each step and with each door, the security officer in the building stops me.
"Where did you park?" she demands. "Because if you parked in that lot over there, you're not supposed to."
And... I kinda snapped at her.
"LOOK! The only reason I parked over there was because I had to lug two huge crates up to the fifth floor. I'll move my car when I'm good and ready!"
In my defense, though, I was in the middle of trying to juggle fifty pounds of paper, navigate around the crazies outside, and open the door without using my hands. I was a little too busy to be polite, uniform or not.
