Center for Consumer Freedom

As the museum door automatically opened before them, the old man and his grandson heard a computerized voice warn “Watch your step.” A bright orange neon sign overhead flashed the same message as they entered the building.

“Welcome to the American Museum of Tort Law,” said a woman standing in the large, padded room before a statue of Ralph Nader. “My name is Joan and I’ll be your guide. This museum was built because it’s really important for the public to feel and touch dangerous products. Now please put on these helmets and non-skid shoes and we’ll begin.”

The old man watched his grandson eagerly strap on the bright blue helmet and don the sleek rubber shoes. The old man looked quizzically at his own helmet and the large warning label on its side, listing forbidden uses.

“Sir, we’re waiting,” Joan said impatiently. He sighed and slid on the helmet and shoes.

The guide led them down a padded hallway, past some dinosaurs of the auto industry, the Corvair and Pinto. She urged the grandson to touch the vehicles. “It’s OK,” she said. “The engines and gas tanks on both cars have been removed and they’re permanently bolted to the floor. We’ve even installed air bags just in case.” The boy was still too frightened to touch either car.

The tour soon progressed into an area where all of the exhibits were behind a thick wall of glass. “These items are far too dangerous to be out in the open,” Joan explained. “There’s no need to worry. This is three-inch-thick bulletproof Plexiglas. No way anyone’s going to get hurt here.”

As they passed one exhibit, the boy pointed excitedly at a long, flat object and said, “Grandpa, what’s that?”

“It’s a diving board,” said the old man. “People used to do flips and cannonballs off of them into swimming pools.”

“Why?” asked the grandson.

Joan butted in. “Because they didn’t know how dangerous they were,” she said. “Let’s move on.”

“Because it was fun,” the old man whispered into the boy’s ear when the guide wasn’t looking.

“Over here you’ll see a particularly dangerous relic from the past,” the guide said, pointing to a large exhibit. Inside were mannequins dressed in festive clothing. Some were posed laughing, some having a drink and one couple was even kissing beneath the mistletoe. “Office Christmas parties really used to get out of hand,” Joan said. “They opened companies up to huge liability with all the food and drink. Thankfully, a few lawsuits put an end to that. It’s a lot like the neighborhood cocktail party you’ll see in the next exhibit.”

The old man looked wistfully at the scene, while his grandson made a face at the two mannequins kissing. “I don’t understand, Grandpa,” he said. “Me neither,” sighed the old man.

Around a carefully padded corner, the group came to a sign that read, “Hall of Horrors.” “Sir, you might want to hold the boy’s hand. There’s some pretty scary stuff in here,” Joan said.

At the first case, the boy let go of the old man’s hand and ran to the glass. “French fries!” he yelled. “Grandpa lets me have these all the time. Can I have some now?”

The guide glared at the old man, who just shrugged sheepishly. “No you may not, young man,” she said. “Your grandpa doesn’t know any better because he’s seen too much advertising, but these French fries are loaded with fat and calories. If you eat them, you won’t be able to stop and they’ll clog your arteries and make you have a heart attack. Then you’ll have to join what’s called a class-action lawsuit.” The boy looked frightened and ran back to clasp his grandfather’s hand.

The next exhibit was hard to see, so both the old man and the boy leaned forward towards the glass. “Not too close!” warned Joan. “That’s actual second-hand cigarette smoke. It was gathered from a bar just before the nationwide smoking ban. We’ve had it in there since 1998.”

The boy recoiled from the glass. “Why’d people want to smoke anyway?” he asked. “They enjoyed it,” the old man replied, “even though they knew…”

“They couldn’t help themselves,” interrupted the guide, giving the old man a dirty look. “There were powerful advertising characters back then that made people smoke and drink and eat fattening food. Come right over here, we’ve got some on display. They called this one Joe Camel. He was irresistible. This sinister fellow here is Ronald McDonald. He was just dying to make you eat more French fries and cheeseburgers. And these ugly things are the Budweiser Frogs. They had people hopping up and down for beer.”

The boy looked startled and then started to cry. “I don’t want to die!” he wailed. The old man knew they’d had enough. He unstrapped both of their helmets, put their own shoes back on and walked out the door, while the computer voice warned them to be careful.

As they left, the boy asked the old man “Weren’t you scared living back then before the lawyers made everything safe, grandpa?”

“Nah kid,” he replied. “That was just what we called living. I’m more scared for you.”

— John Doyle is director of communications for the Center For Consumer Freedom, a nationwide coalition of restaurant owners and managers committed to providing their guests with a wide range of entertainment and dining choices.