I knew it was going to happen before it happened.
It might have had something to do with the Mom, who knelt in front of her pale child and said, “If your stomach hurts, sweetie, come back and tell Mommy.”
She then sent her kid off to our first community centre soccer game for four-year olds, where my daughter was anxiously awaiting a chance to kick someone in the shins.
For those not in the know, the “Norovirus,” (basically the worst of the barfingcrapping virus) is going around laying people out all over North America.
Here it is straight from Wikipedia, a somewhat reliable source:
In one incident, a person who vomited spread infection right across a restaurant, suggesting that many unexplained cases of food poisoning may have their source in vomit. 126 people were dining at six tables in December 1998; one woman vomited. Staff quickly cleaned up, and people continued eating. Three days later others started falling ill; 52 people reported a range of symptoms, from fever and nausea to vomiting and diarrhoea. The cause was not immediately identified. Researchers plotted the seating arrangement: more than 90% of the people at the same table as the sick woman later reported food poisoning. There was a direct correlation between the risk of infection of people at other tables and how close they were to the sick woman. More than 70% of the diners at an adjacent table fell ill; at a table on the other side of the restaurant, the rate was still 25%.
Moral of the story? Stay away from people who are vomiting!
Soooo anyway, the kid comes running back to Mom, four minutes in, and spews in an amazing rainbow arc all over the floor. Near all the parents, all the water bottles, etc. Immediately I think, I dislike you, lady. We all make bad calls, but she knew. As she was mopping up the puke with paper towels and looking around sheepishly, she knew. The instructor came over to see how everyone was, and the Mom explained that her daughter had a “big breakfast.” But after seeing all of us staring at her, she hastily added “And I was sick last week.”
What? YOU were sick and you didn’t make the connection?
At least they will leave now, I think. I causally mention we might want to bag up the garbage and take it out. (“We” meaning her, not me) The Mom stares at me for a moment, decides this is reasonable and carries the bag outside the building.
They don’t leave.
“Why don’t you just sit here until you feel better, and watch the other kids?” The Mom says.
At this point my eyebrow goes up, and I give her the stare. I start swearing internally, having an argument in my head about whether the common-sense fairy forgot to make a stop-off at their house when this baby was born. Your kid pukes, you go home. I thought that was a rule! Doesn’t your child want to go home now? They just yakked in front of strangers; they want to watch cartoons!
The girl then gets up, crosses the gym, and takes a big drink from the water fountain. Yes, the girl who just puked her guts out. Drinking from the fountain. This is how pandemics start.
And then she pukes again.
They leave after Spew#2. I wanted to yell, “THANKK YOOUUUU!” after them, but I manage to hold back. What have we been exposed to? I start giving the kids bland meals, just in case I have to see them later. I cancel plans. I fully expect the house to erupt into a Barf-o-rama within hours. We got off easy, a few twinges in the gut, but nothing major. I chalk up my resistance to love of curries, which must kill off most things. The kids however, just sidestepped a nasty one. We never puke on the run, only at three a.m.,in our beds, layering all of the stuffed animals and blankets in steaming piles. I guess that is lucky, sort of.
I will try to give this Mom the benefit of the doubt. She was tired, she wasn’t thinking, she had to leave the house or she would go mental, etc. But next week, I am not sitting near her. I don’t want to be friends.