OMG NEEDLESS PANIC!!!1!eleventy!
Thankfully, not my own.
Synopsis: Young couple with two-year-old child go to restaurant. Adults order (alcoholic) drinks - mother gets some kind of fizzy fruit cocktail, father gets a (shock! horror!) white Russian. Waiter brings drinks to table, places them in the centre - this was a Chinese restaurant, so I assume it was one of those "lazy Susan" type tables; you know, the ones with the revolving middle bit that small children get needlessly excited about? I know I was excited about that kind of thing when I was a kid. "Mum! This table's got a merry-go-round!"
So anyway. Kid sees drink in small glass that looks like milk, and grabs it as two-year-olds do. Because when you're two, everything is about you, right? "Hey, that's mine!" Kid takes a sip. "Ack! Ptoooie! WAAAAA!"
Mother goes "Aaaaaa!" and calls the cops. I'm not entirely sure who she wanted to press charges against - maybe it was the restaurant, maybe the waiter, maybe her partner, maybe even her two-year-old. The restaurant staff, not to be outdone, call the paramedics.
Sheesh. Talk about over-reaction.
And a quote from the kid's mother: "Jeez. Try to get dinner and it’s a crime scene."
This is from the woman who called the cops in the first place. What the yellow rubbery fuck? Seriously. If you don't want your dinner to become a "crime scene", don't call the police when your two-year-old does something stupid. Babies learn from experience, and I don't think it's an experience this kid will forget. Even if the only memory will be that he doesn't like milk, or he doesn't like alcoholic drinks.
Here's a memory of mine that springs to mind: I was about four years old, and I went into the kitchen and saw my granddad drinking something fizzy and brown. "What's that?"
(NB: at that age, "fizzy and brown" automatically meant "Coke".)
"It's beer. Do you want some?"
Thinking "Ooo, goody, a new kind of Coke!", I said "Okay!"
Sip. "Ack! Ptooie! Why do you drink that? It's horrible!"
That experience put me off beer for about the next 18 years or so. I knew what beer was; I knew I didn't like it; case closed. See? I learned. Nobody called the police at that time. Nobody felt the need. Mind you, it was NZ in the 1970s, rather than America in 2010. But still. What the fuck?
Synopsis: Young couple with two-year-old child go to restaurant. Adults order (alcoholic) drinks - mother gets some kind of fizzy fruit cocktail, father gets a (shock! horror!) white Russian. Waiter brings drinks to table, places them in the centre - this was a Chinese restaurant, so I assume it was one of those "lazy Susan" type tables; you know, the ones with the revolving middle bit that small children get needlessly excited about? I know I was excited about that kind of thing when I was a kid. "Mum! This table's got a merry-go-round!"
So anyway. Kid sees drink in small glass that looks like milk, and grabs it as two-year-olds do. Because when you're two, everything is about you, right? "Hey, that's mine!" Kid takes a sip. "Ack! Ptoooie! WAAAAA!"
Mother goes "Aaaaaa!" and calls the cops. I'm not entirely sure who she wanted to press charges against - maybe it was the restaurant, maybe the waiter, maybe her partner, maybe even her two-year-old. The restaurant staff, not to be outdone, call the paramedics.
Sheesh. Talk about over-reaction.
And a quote from the kid's mother: "Jeez. Try to get dinner and it’s a crime scene."
This is from the woman who called the cops in the first place. What the yellow rubbery fuck? Seriously. If you don't want your dinner to become a "crime scene", don't call the police when your two-year-old does something stupid. Babies learn from experience, and I don't think it's an experience this kid will forget. Even if the only memory will be that he doesn't like milk, or he doesn't like alcoholic drinks.
Here's a memory of mine that springs to mind: I was about four years old, and I went into the kitchen and saw my granddad drinking something fizzy and brown. "What's that?"
(NB: at that age, "fizzy and brown" automatically meant "Coke".)
"It's beer. Do you want some?"
Thinking "Ooo, goody, a new kind of Coke!", I said "Okay!"
Sip. "Ack! Ptooie! Why do you drink that? It's horrible!"
That experience put me off beer for about the next 18 years or so. I knew what beer was; I knew I didn't like it; case closed. See? I learned. Nobody called the police at that time. Nobody felt the need. Mind you, it was NZ in the 1970s, rather than America in 2010. But still. What the fuck?