Mama Said Knock You Out

"Fight-or-Flight Response".  If you google that, you'll come up with all sorts of neurological explanations about neurons and synapses and signals, oh my!  I used to be a fighter, not a flight...er.  But I've had to learn over the years to flight.  Or fly.  Whatever it would be.  I've mastered flight.  Yep.  I beat that fighting stuff long ago.  Pffft.

We were going to Hershey Park for the evening.  There was also a concert.  For anyone who's been to Hershey, you know the deal.  You turn into the complex of Giant Center/Hershey Arena/Hershey Park.  You choose a lane, resembling EZ Pass and cash tolls a la turnpike, you present your cash or parking pass...you then race through the slalom that is the seemingly 10 mile drive to the next parking directive.  And if you've not been to Hershey, just go with me on this.  It's quite the process.

I knew where I wanted to go, so I hopped out into the far lane and cruised on about my business, eager to get as close of a parking space as possible.  But, as I neared the Giant Center (which is very far from the Park) in my self-made express lane, I got the "Lighted Stick Of Denial" from one of the parking lot attendants.  He wrangled me to the right, directly into bumper to bumper, stopped traffic.  But those people were there to see the concert, while I wanted to simply go to the Park.  I nicely explained I was here for the Park, NOT the concert.  He ignored me and pointed with his lighted stick.  What was that?  Talk to the stick, 'cause the attendant be thick?  Inch by inch, I crawled along in a parking lot miles away from my destination...miles and miles away from the shuttle that takes one into the Park.  Temper...temper.

There was no outlet from this parking lot and I could see a plethora of empty spaces way down at the Park, where I needed to be.  I knew my legs wouldn't make the miles of walking TO it, plus miles AROUND it, then reverse.  I arrived back at the gate, flicked on my right hand turn signal, and attempted to exit the lot of Far Far Away.  Another attendant stood in front of my car, pointing me back to the left, into the line of inching along cars I just came from.  I put my window down and said, "I'm going out!".  "Go THAT way", he said, pointing me back into that same...line.  Temper.............temper...........

I drove around in yet another circle, stopping every inch or so.  I again tried to exit the lot by turning right.  Same guy, same stance in front of my car.  "THAT WAY", he said.  I yelled, "I want out!  How do I get out!", as I had yet again conformed and re-entered the line of automobile salmon inching along.  He said, "oh...well you'd go this way", pointing to the right.  The way I wanted to go.  2 tries ago.  And I began to feel as if I was trapped in this Parking Lot of Hell.  Temmmmmmmmmmper...

I finally came around.  Again.  Surely he'd know I'm me.  I'd been doing circles for about a half hour now.  We already discussed my desire to exit.  Angry lady, black station wagon, black tinted windows.  It's not hard to remember the car.  But again, he began to point as if to stop me and not allow me out of the PLOH.  Explosion in 3...2...

I slammed the car in park, jumped out, left my door hanging open, and tore off straight for him.  Full speed walk, yelling, pointing, holding up all traffic patterns they were trying to create, because I was standing in the middle of it all.  It was the me of 10+ years ago.  The problem?  Twofold.  First, my kids were in the car, watching me go off.  Thankfully, they could not hear what I was saying.  And second, I had myself SO worked up that my legs were shaking.  My stomp of fury back to my car was squiggly at best.  Thankfully, I didn't fall.  He'd have directed the line of cars to run over me.  I just know it.  I think I looked about as intelligent as this.  Though that's pretty funny.  Wait, do I know that guy? 

The end of the story is that the attendant stopped ALL traffic in order to let me out.  I made my way down to the Park and found a space directly next to where we needed to be (SCORE!).  We had an incredible night.  On my very first bathroom trip, I prayed to God, asking to be forgiven for losing my mind on the guy and in front of my kids.  And I apologized for not...flighting. 

Just goes to show...you can't keep me confined to a place I don't wanna be, just like you can't put Baby in a corner.  And it also goes to show that the temper I so proudly proclaimed years ago as "under control"?  Ain't.

Wish I could blame MS for this one, but MS won't own my temper any more than I'll own MS!  In a strange way, I can appreciate that I have this sort of unfriendly reminder to act right.  I say, "Mama said knock you out, HOUH!"  MS says, "Kay.  Try to stomp away with angel hair pasta legs!  You look like an idiot and everyone is laughing at you.  Including me.  Because I'm MS!  With capital letters!"  Duly noted...