Don’t Play with the Milk (and other important rules)

I like rules.  I like to make rules, and I like to follow rules.  My theory has always been that if there is a rule, there must be a reason FOR the rule.

Over time, I’ve made rules that I never, ever, EVER would have anticipated.  But my all time favorite came from our time in Toronto:

Don’t play with the milk. 

There were a few variations:  Don’t take the milk downstairs.  Don’t take the milk to your room.  Don’t throw the milk.  But the concept was always the same.

Yes, this was a real rule.  You see, in Canada, milk comes in bags.  To understand why this is important, I would encourage you to watch the below video.  It’s enlightening.  Really.  Watch it, then read on.  You’ll see why.

Milk in Bags, Eh?

I WISH that I had seen this video before we went to Canada.  You see, no one told me the rules that this young lady so clearly explained.  I made EVERY SINGLE MISTAKE she spoke about.  I spilled GALLONS of milk.  For a while, we only bought milk at 7-11’s because that was the only place we could find cartons (and we didn’t know about the plastic milk pitchers.)  And yes, the kids LOVED it.  They took turns carrying the bags of milk around the house, pretending that the bags were dogs, footballs – you name it.  Any excuse to hold, throw, drop, or otherwise misuse the milk they took.  But my point is, no one told us the RULES.

Now I find myself in a similar situation.  As we continue to work toward our grand opening of Magnolia Kitchen,  every day it seems that there are new rules to learn.

Yesterday we found out that you can’t receive mail at a business in Flora.  You have to get a post office box.  Who knew?!?!

Two days ago, we found out that you have to have a license to play music.  (Live music.  Radio.  CD.  It doesn’t matter – if it’s in a restaurant, you have to have a license.)

Where do you learn these rules?  What rules do we still not know about?

I think back to our time in Canada, and I can’t help but think that our lives would have been much easier and less messy had we simply known the rules of the milk.

But then again, I’m not one to cry over spilled milk.  We’ll learn the rules of the restaurant trade as we go along, and in the end, it will all turn out all right.  If we spill the milk, we’ll just get a cat.

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