Problem Child .... by Adam (2005)

Last night I had dealings with a child. Since I am in my thirties, I am confronted with the inevitability of some of my acquaintances having offspring that they feel must be brought out of the house. At a jazz bar, the spawn of one of my tablemates from the UK was present. I believe it was aged somewhere between 3 and 11 years.

Children are rather similar to people. They’ve got heads covered in hair, diminutive hands augmented with tiny digits, and faces adorned with organs used to transmit sensual input to their little brains. So similar are they to you and I, that you might even say they are miniature versions of adults. In fact, according to a friend of mine, if left to their own devices for several years, they develop into something quite resembling the common adult.

The hair of this particular child was kept in a style similar to many adults – a trendy mop of brown tresses. He even used our common language – English – when confronting us with questions and outbursts. I shunned eye contact, hoping to avoid any one-on-one communication (from what I understand, interaction can lead to urine stains or toy purchases or something.)

On my end of the table, adult conversation went along smoothly until the tyke decided to offer around his French-fries. He circled the table with a basket, stopping at each patron. When the basket (with child attached) reached my vicinity, I hesitated. I thought it better to avoid the interaction and suppress my hunger. But I ultimately grabbed two fries.

The boy released an offensive, piercing shriek and shouted “HEY!” Shocked, I quickly defended myself with, “What? Can’t I take two?” The kid considered my defence and eventually admitted that two fries were ok. Apparently, from his low-level vantage (children tend to be very short) it looked like I had taken a handful.

I now had to tolerate his table presence since I had received favour from him. At any moment he could return. He could engage me in conversation, requesting a game of tag or maybe even a bedtime story. We had bonded over the French-fry controversy and the prospect of continuing the evening without interference seemed bleak.

Luckily, his blood relatives soon elected to leave the bar. For one last act of torture, they sent their offspring around the table to bid us individual goodnights. I also received a personal farewell. It went fairly painlessly, and I was back immersed in my adult conversation within a few seconds.

As I was left to sift through the evening’s data, I put together a mental cost-benefit analysis of the existence of children. My conclusion? I had gained two French-fries out of the deal. But I believe they were ultimately not worth the interaction.

From my blog on www.downelink.com