The Cynic Express(ed) 1.08: Caveat Emptor, Baby

     It's smoky inside the Grind at twelve-thirty in the morning, and the regular patrons mill about the tables, pool tables, and couches with a practiced air of indifference. Foreign nationals in tastefully (I am sure they tell themselves and each other) decadent fashions, seductive succubus make-up, and cosmopolitan boredom linger in the perpetual cocktail party, looking for a good time in any of the forms that America offers: dancing all night, a quick pick-up, an unhealthy dose of liquor, or all of the above. I was shocked to discover, while attempting a lengthy pick-up of one of a trio of Austrian ladies, to learn their reason for visiting the United States. They were not students, as I had assumed, but they took care of children of their host families. The official title of their profession, as Louise Woodward would several months later acquaint the world, is Au Pair.

     I was shocked and dismayed, as shocked and dismayed as the modern cynic allows himself. These good-time girls were trusted with a couple's child or children, often on only a few hours of sleep, assuming they stumbled to their host families' homes when the Grind closed at three in the morning. Something was not quite right with the picture.

     Of course, then along came the Louise Woodward case, with all its tears, uproar, finger-pointing, and MAV (Mutually Assumed Victimhood). And America is shocked. Pardon the fatalism, realism if you will, but it was bound to happen.

     First of all, parents are paying one-third of the price of a nanny for someone to come in and care for their child. They could hardly be expecting a Mary Poppins or even a Mrs. Doubtfire. The difference, need I remind consumers everywhere, between a Geo Metro and a low-end Mercedes. Louise Woodward was earning $115 a week. I've made more working part-time in a grocery store. Or, to put it bluntly, you get what you pay for, and sometimes you pay for what you get.

     So far this looks like a big helping of finger-pointing, but that is not my intent. Two of three people with children under six years of age are working outside the home, and not everyone can afford the three C's a week one needs to pay the nanny. Not many can, I would guess. Day-care centers are overpopulated sometimes, and horror stories, stereotypes, and parental nightmares echo from the urban canyon walls. Sometimes an au pair is the best move for what they've been given. Parents who hire au pairs need to remember, though, that the au pairs probably have the minimum training their corporation can give them and the young ladies are coming to America, not necessarily coming to work.

     Of course, some of the au pairs that make it through whatever passes for screening with au pair agencies need to grow up and balance fun with their responsibilities. America is not one big discotheque for them to play in. A good night's sleep might be a good prerequisite for a day's worth of taming wild children. After all, that is what they are imported to do.

     The moral of the Louise Woodward story, aside from the ease with which one can come by international celebrity by merely "popping" a child down and maybe being a little rough with it until it (he) dies, is that, sometimes, given bad sets of circumstances, bad things happen. The death of Matthew Eappen is what engineers would call a "normal" accident. Given imperfect parts in the great whirligig that is life in the fast, professional and family-rearing years, a weak link will fissure and something bad will happen, occasionally something tragic.

     The solution, of course, is better engineering, which means more thought on the part of the parents, more care in selecting an au pair or au pair service should they choose to use an au pair, and more training and screening of au pairs as they are settled in with host families and their children. Unfortunately, tinkering with the formulae costs money, which cuts into the bottom line for the corporations, the take-homes of the parents, and the late-night coffeehouse attendance of the au pairs. Instead, we will wring our hands, raise our fists in triumph or outrage as Louise Woodward goes free, feel collectively guilty and victimized for a while, and then forget it until the next normal accident occurs.