A friend of mine recently tried to reach out to people on Facebook about taking their kids to pubs every time their throats itch for the hard stuff. I literally can’t count the times I have shared a bar counter with a kid still adorably staggering around in diapers!
One memorable encounter went something like this: I was broke on a Friday and decided my local joint would do. I sat in my usual corner, watching people walk in drunk as hell at 8pm! What did they do? Spend the day soaked in booze?
I was later joined by a friend who in her words, would never be caught dead in that place again. It crawled with all sorts of people; the sober, the tipsy, the drunk and the completely I-don’t-know-my-name wasted! It was a tragedy, to put it simply.
As we slowly forgot the circus we were in, thanks to constant glass refills, a group of five people, including a kid not older than three, walked in. They sat on the other side of the bar, right next to a man who seemed to have a cigarette attached to his lips every five seconds.
Seeing as the man had already done justice to the bartender’s Primus section, he didn’t give a flying donkey that he was smoking around a child.
What bothered me the most wasn’t the drunkard’s lack of consideration but the natural stupidity of those five people who came with the child.
For starters, it was already coming to 10p.m – wasn’t that way past his bedtime? Secondly, the bar did not have any bouncing castles or ice cream booths or balloons to pop for that matter – that had to be one lousy outing for a kid. Thirdly, by 10p.m, their lame brochettes were also pretty much done - having a bite was out of the question. So, it brought me down to two things; the kid either guzzled Turbo King just like they did, or he wanted to hang out with his ‘homies’!
But judging by the way he cried, yawned and became fussy, indicating that he was tired and just wanted to fall asleep in a bed and not a bar chair, suggested otherwise.
He tried jumping from one lap to another, desperately seeking a spot comfortable enough to fall asleep. But the music blaring from the bar’s music speakers wasn’t helping the situation. His ‘homies’ simply kept shouting at the bartender to bring more Turbo.
They finally staggered out at midnight and one of them insisted on waking the poor kid up to walk!
My hands itched to throw a bottle at his retarded head!
We need help…and we need it now!!!