"Pardon me?"  He's leaning over to the passenger window, white beard stained tobacco yellow.  He's three decades too old to have kids go here.

"Yes?" I say.

"Do you think I came at 2:30 just to let someone like you block me in?"

In fairness to him, I am about two feet from the curb - tucked nicely behind the Staples delivery van.  In all fairness to myself, we are in the large school driveway and I'm at least six feet ahead of him - more than enough room for him to pull out around me.

"Are you leaving right now?" I ask him.

"Doesn't look like it, does it?"

The condescension flaming off his words digs at me and I am immediately angry but I lace my voice in holiday sweetness, "I'm so sorry.  I'll move it right away."

I go back to my car, pull it out and across to the other side of the driveway.  Then I walk past him again and smile on my way to get Liam.  I hope he feels like a turd.

I collect both boys, feeling victory boil as I get to pull out of the parking lot before he collects whatever rug rats he's responsible for.  Looks like you didn't need me to move after all.  Merry Christmas, Scrooge!