Uber, But for School

(Cursed titled, but hear me out.)

Attention Conservation Notice: This is a rant. I’m overdue. I don’t recommend you read this unless you enjoy righteous indignation, bureaucratic absurdity, and the slow, crushing realization that we are all drowning in digital paperwork for no reason. If you’ve ever wanted to scream into the void about consent forms for mundane crap, this one’s for you.

Let me paint you a picture. The school year has just started, and I’m already drowning in a tsunami of consent forms. Every minor incursion, every guest speaker, every moment where my child might actually learn something requires my explicit permission, preferably through a digital portal designed by someone who clearly hates parents.

Want your kid to listen to a guest speaker? Form.
Library visit? Form.
Eat in the cafeteria? Form.
Gym class? Form.
Breathe outside? I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re working on a pilot program for that one, too.

And yet, in this same world, I can summon a complete stranger from the internet to bring me food I know nothing about, with zero paperwork, no legal disclaimers, and absolutely no parental consent required.

Think about that.

We used to tell kids, “Never talk to strangers on the internet. Never get into a stranger’s car. Never take food from a stranger.” And now? That’s literally the foundation of the modern economy. I can tap a few buttons and have a random person — whose only qualification is that they passed Uber Eats’ very rigorous “owns a car” test — show up at my door with sushi, and I won’t think twice about shoving it in my mouth.

But if my kid wants to make sushi in a classroom kitchen?
Whoa, slow down there, buddy!

Because guess what? I just had to sign a waiver for my child to use cooking equipment.

One of a dozen consent forms I had to fill out on day one.

Not rocket launchers.
Not chainsaws.
Not live explosives.
Just kitchen utensils.