Bentennial

I would like to start out by saying that I realize that I have already blogged about parents being too invested in their childrens’ athletic endeavors. I am not talking about that this time. This is different. Witness:

Attended a six-team high school swim meet last Saturday night. Now, I am not going to name schools here, but the name of one of the schools rhymes with Bentennial High School. Here is what you need to know: Bentennial parents are assholes. Read on.

A few things you should know about the logistics of a swim meet. First, it is very hot. Like, rainforest hot. But swim season is in the winter, so, everyone has the same problem of walking in the door wearing a heavy coat, jacket, long-sleeved shirt, etc., and needing to shed all of those layers. Second, it is very crowded. There is often less seating available than people attending. So, not only must you figure out some place to stash all of the layers of clothing you’ve removed, but you must also find a way to bend the laws of physics to make the dimensions of your body about half of what they would normally be. I literally sit in the “crack the egg” position that we all used to take when we didn’t know that trampolines could kill us: knees drawn up to chest, arms wrapped tightly around, scared look on face, sitting on pile of discarded clothing.

Bentennial parents, on the other hand, take a totally different approach. They believe that every bit of space that they have the potential to touch is claimed as their very own, and spread out in a manner similar to Jabba the Hut. Now, I happened to be sitting in a one square foot space on Saturday, right next to the stairs. Some Bentennial parents could not find the half acre they required in order to be comfortable, so they just plopped down in the middle of the stairs next to me, and then refused to move. Other people, innocently trying to use the stairs, were subjected to withering looks from these Bentennial freaks, and, in trying to maneuver around these squatters, practically ended up falling to their death. This wasn’t an innocent mistake; I clearly heard the Bentennial parents say, “Let’s just wait until the fire chief kicks us out.” See what I mean? Assholes. Imagine the example they are setting for their child: keeping stairs clear and safe for others is for suckers.

But that is not the only reason why Bentennial parents blow. Here is the other reason: the second-to-last event was the girl’s 400 free relay. In this event, four girls each swim 100 meters. It’s a great event, very exciting. One of the girls, a Bentennial girl, swam her leg of this event, got out of the water, and promptly collapsed by the side of the pool. It was extremely scary, but there were plenty of lifeguards on duty, and they immediately ran over to help. My son happens to be a lifeguard in his spare time, so I know for a fact that lifeguards are certified in CPR and first aid. It’s not a medical degree, but it’s enough to keep a person alive in the event of an emergency. When this young woman collapsed (she was very clearly breathing, but in distress) she was attended to IMMEDIATELY by at least four lifeguards, plus two other adults, at least four of whom were capable of performing CPR at the first moment it was needed. (Side note, my son, hilariously, was standing RIGHT THERE when the incident occurred, and he promptly said, “It’s okay. I am a lifeguard,” the way a doctor would at the site of a baby being born in a car. I love him.)

The Bentennial parents up in the stands showed their support by yelling, “SOMEBODY SHOULD CALL SOMEONE!” Now, I have been known to stretch the truth in this blog, but that was a direct quote, friends. Not, “I am going to call 9-1-1,” not, “I am a doctor! May I assist?” Not even, “Excuse me, has anyone called a squad?” No! “SOMEBODY should call SOMEONE.” ASSHOLES! To spite them, I picked up my phone and called the Jennie-O Turkey Hotline. Mission accomplished: somebody called someone. Meanwhile, someone more responsible than me had already called the squad. When the Bentennial parents heard this, they started yelling, “WELL, WHERE IS IT?” despite the fact that less than five minutes had passed. Then, when the paramedics arrived, instead of cheering, they started yelling instructions for the paramedics, such as “GET HER OUT OF HERE! WHY AREN’T YOU TAKING HER OUT? WHY IS SHE STILL ON THE BACKBOARD (that the lifeguards had put her on) AND NOT A STRETCHER? SHE NEEDS OXYGEN! WHY ISN’T SHE ON OXYGEN?” And then they razzed the paramedics for not cracking the poor girl’s chest open then and there. Meanwhile , the particular child who collapsed had a history of this happening. (And guess who her parents were? That’s right – the stair sitters!!!) If the team knew she had a history of this condition, why didn’t they have a plan to handle it, instead of traumatizing approximately 200 children, who probably thought this poor child was going to die? Oh, I know why: they are assholes.

So, I don’t know if there’s a moral to this story. Except this: don’t do any of that stuff.