I Don't Take Orders

The summer day camp coordinator got angry with me yesterday because I locked the door to the gym.  Let me back up.  Just about every day I get to work, the door to the gym is open.  Yesterday, both the door next to the stairwell leading downstairs and the main gym doors were open.  Summer camp was over for the day, yet the camp coordinator felt they should be able to keep marching kids through the area. 

I lock the doors behind me when I get in.  Class begins a half-hour after I get there, and I use that time to set the gym up.  Every day, I set out gloves, the ring timer, the clock, jump ropes, medicine balls, the balance board, the footwork cones, and water bottles for the participants to use.  I don't need to be distracted by random youths and adults roaming into the gym during that time.  I don't open the doors again until five or ten minutes before class begins. 

"Why did you do that?" she demanded when I opened the door after I heard her and several kids banging on it.  She doesn't look anything like my mother when she was alive, and even less so now that Ma is deceased.  I ignored her.  "I know you heard me when I told you to leave the door open!" she snapped.  She may have mumbled something to me in passing when I first got there, but remember folks, I'm an old woman.  I don't hear so well sometimes.  Maybe being post-menopausal has something to do with that.  At any rate, I don't take orders from people who don't sign my paychecks.  I especially didn't feel the need to respond to her since she believes I'm a monster towards kids simply because I never gave birth to any.

"I'm tired of this!" I heard her grumbling as I continued to go about doing my job.  Maybe she complained to our supervisor about me -- again.  Whatever.  My reaction to her foul attitude reminded me of a statement one of those TV judges made to a youth standing in their courtroom: "I don't argue with children."