I'm Getting My Windows "Fixed"

Some people are coming around to my apartment to fix my windows.  Not that there's anything wrong with my windows.  When I say "fix" I mean it in the same sense as a vet "fixes" your dog.  There is actually nothing wrong with my windows.  However the government is apparently terrified that I spend my all too brief moments of relaxation hurling babies out of my apartment via the aforementioned windows.  I swear to god, you discipline one recalcitrant two year old and you're branded for life.

It's not just me either, every flat in my apartment block is getting its windows fixed so that they can't be opened more than twelve and a half centimetres.  This is apparently to halt the steady rain of small children splattering down into the public areas which has cursed us for so long.  No wonder our cleaning bills are through the roof although it isn't anything that can't be dealt with by carrying a sturdy umbrella.

Once my windows are fixed twelve and a half centimetres is all the fresh air I am allocated per window.  I suppose I should be grateful they aren't proposing to charge for it.  The fact that I have no children and have no friends insane enough to leave their offspring in my care matters not a jot.  To be fair I will apparently be issued with a "master key" and I can abuse my possession of this precious device to actually open my damn windows.  I have a letter from my strata managers sternly warning me not to abuse the faith placed in me by giving me possession of this key and that any windows opened in violation of the twelve and a half centimetre rule must be closed as soon as the purpose for their being opened has been fulfilled.

If I interpret that last sentence correctly it means that should I unlock one of my windows so that I can flee a fire currently engulfing my apartment my first act on reaching safety must be to reenter the burning building and close the windows.  After which I suppose I'm allowed to burn to death in peace. 

I know babies fall out of windows, there's a news report at least once a year of some hapless child getting a practical lesson in gravity perhaps somewhat before the topic is brought up at school.  However to the best of my knowledge none of them have fallen out of my windows (and I'm only three stories up, there's at least a slight chance the kid would survive) and very few are likely to in the future.  Locking every occupant of an apartment block in what has suddenly changed from a home to a fiery deathtrap does seem to me to be a slight over reaction.

There are many many ways that a child can hurt themselves.  Rather than attempt to safety proof the entire planet permit me to make an alternate suggestion.  Let's herd every child in the country together into a padded concentration camp.  They can be chained to the walls during the daytime and strapped into their beds at night.  Movement retardant foam can be deployed from the ceiling should the little tykes try anything dangerous like walking.  Their parents, if they're so minded, can view them through one way mirrors by appointment and congratulate themselves on how well they're bringing up their kids.

Once we have nursed a child through the first eighteen years of its life we can then release them blinking into the world.  Whereupon every last one of them is likely to be killed within three months.  Although, presumably at that point their parents will have the decency not to complain.

This would never be done of course.  It seems that whenever somebody complains its a hell of a lot easier to inconvenience everybody else rather than tell them to shut up.  Still I suppose a hideous death in a burning apartment is a small price to pay for relieving parents from the responsibility of actually keeping an eye on their damn kids.