Because of the hours I keep at WDAY, my program being 9 am to noon, I’m not able to drive my daughter to or from kindergarten.  This job falls to my wife.  But the other day, with the school year nearly over, finally it worked out for me to pick her up after school. 

I viewed this as a benchmark day.  I’d park the car and join all the other parents chatting away the minutes as we waited for our kids to come bursting through the doors with all the energy one would expect after three hours of projects, socializing and snacks loaded with more sugar than a C & H factory produces in one month.

Of course it wasn’t like this at all.

As I strolled to the sidewalk outside the doors the kids would exit from, I stood there alone… the other parents sat in there cars.  Either my imposing 8’6″ frame scared them off or this was The System. 

Until that day, I was unfamiliar with The System:  Stay in the car until the last possible moment.  Then, charge the door seconds before you expect to see your child.  By doing this, no extra time is spent socializing.  And at no time do you even consider making eye contact.  You see your child, you scoop up your child, you leave with your child.  Quick, painless, efficient.

I wasn’t briefed in advance on The System.  Now I know better for the next time.

But those curious traits of the seasoned kindergarten valet squads paled in comparison to what I would see as the kids actually came out the doors.  Little did I know these kids weren’t actually in kindergarten.  Oh sure, that’s the cover… drop them off at what appears to be a school, teachers greeting you with an abundance of charm and good cheer…  it all looks right.  Of course, it’s kindergarten.

No, it’s not. 

The teachers are high-paid sales trainers and the kids – they’re the future sales reps for Dingo-Lattimore Luggage.

As the doors flew open, one peanut after another came out the door… with shoulder bags, backpacks, canvas tote bags, garment bags, expandable uprights and duffle bags.  And most of the kids had two or three of these each.

It looked like a parade of mini-marines in a sort of macabre basic training exercise.  One by one, each little boy and girl dragged themselves and their luggage samples past beaming sales trainers…er…teachers…to find their smiling, perky parents.  The kids’ faces looked like they were finishing up 12-hour shifts on a construction site.

Little beads of sweat, tired eyes, sore muscles… who needs recess when you’ve got kids training for the Luggage Olympics to be followed by what one hopes will be a successful career in sales.

Originally I thought I was picking up my daughter from kindergarten but that notion was dismissed quickly when those doors opened.  There’s nothing that goes on in kindergarten that would require children not much larger than bowling pins to be carrying more bags than a couple of adults going on a week-long trip to Hawaii.

So, clearly, this was Dingo-Lattimore Luggage school.  I had heard rumors about the place but never dreamed it was where my daughter was attending for the past eight months. 

I’d have an even bigger problem with it except for the fact she gave me a great deal on a new overnight bag.

photo credit: nhanusek