Since becoming a mother and since my career kicked into hyper-speed I've not had much time to blog. That doesn't mean I haven't needed to vent my spleen - it isn't like I had a personality transplant - just that I've been using other outlets than the ol' Villains Vanquished soapbox.

I encountered a prime example of the sort of dragon I used to slay regularly in this space over the weekend, however. And, sword arm needing a workout, I feel the need to vent.

Now, I am generally polite to a fault. I'm the sort that still holds doors open for people - anybody really - say please and thank you, and generally grease the civic wheels with kindness. Yeah, so 1950's of me, but that's how I was raised. I preface with this introduction so you will appreciate the extremity of my dissatisfaction and the great control I exercised in suppressing my desire to put the Entitled Woman at the Circus out of her misery - with both barrels.

Here's the story:

My little family and I were headed to the Zor Circus in Madison on Saturday. We arrived early and easily found our premium "Reserve" seats which were five rows from the floor - three situated at the end of the row. We had time to kill, so we looked around and visited the concessions, you know the drill.

After a while, the show finally started, much to the delight of all. The first two acts come on and off, then finally the much-awaited Tigers rolled out onto the floor. This was the expected highlight of the show for my daughter who LOVES cats and routinely begs for one of her very own (the domesticated version, not the Seigfried and Roy kind). However, not 30 seconds into the tiger show, a line of people arrives and intends to come into the row we are sitting in and fill the seven vacant seats in the middle of the row. It is dark, so we can't see how many people are coming.... Each one files into the row, obstructing our view of the Big Cats, and before long it is clear that they've attempted to put 50 pounds of crap in a 20 lb sack - no way are 11 people going to fit in 7 seats. So, they start filing out of the row, again obstructing our view.

Once they start amassing at the end of our row again, a loud discussion ensues over who is going to sit where and with what child...finally culminating in their reentry to the row again, again obstructing our view. Those that had entered finally are seated and we get to finally sit and watch the show...until two minutes later when the lady-in-charge of these shenanigans decides to get out of her seat again and make her way back out of the row.

I admit it: I gave her the look. You know the one - the one reserved for misbehaving children, drunken husbands and mouthy teenagers. "You've got to be kidding," I said. "I'll be back" she sing-songed back at me.

So, she leaves the row again to discuss god-knows-what with the people that didn't fit in the row, then two minutes later interrupts us again so that she can go back to her seat - which is now filled by one of those kids that was on a lap. She arrives mid-row to find "her" seat occupied and turns to me to ask if I'll give up the seat where our coats and my purse are piled (since my daughter was on my lap so she could see over the tall adult in front of us).

I gave her the look again. I couldn't help it. Who did this woman think she was? Empress of the Circus? All I can say is, she gave off the impression that she was entitled to the seat that I had paid for and her fanny was so much more important than our coats and my purse. My temperment at that moment..., well let's just say we disagreed. I gave her the look again and said, "Yeah, NO." In that firm unyielding tone reserved for children threatening to finger paint the walls.

Unequivocal. No room for argument. Just Hell to the NO.

Unsurprisingly, this failed to satisfy the Queen of Sheba. So, she rallies her group and they interrupt us again by exiting the row yet again. This time, all of them left. Good Riddance!

Not only were they incredibly rude to us, but to all of the people sitting in the dozen rows behind us.

And, lest I be painted an uncooperative harridan, let me assure you we were in our assigned seats. And, she never contested that our seats were ours. I believe that they had seats elsewhere and waited for the show to start so that they could move down lower to the show. I guess they were special and somehow I failed to get the memo. No ushers were brought in to sort out the seating matter, leading me to believe Cleopatra knew she was playing a weak hand.

What is wrong with people these days? Assholes rallying in Madison because they don't want anyone to water down the sweet deal they've been getting where the rest of us pay for their seats in addition to our own and assholes at the circus expecting me to give up a seat I paid for so she could claim seats that weren't hers. Entitlement.

This is what is wrong with this country. Not enough people saying Hell to the No to the assholes.

Not me. Not anymore.


HELL TO THE NO!!!!!

/Rant