Kid (in complete unamused deadpan): “Happy first day of state testing.” (Looks at floor, puts head in hands)
Ah, young squire. I’ve taught you well.
Soon you’ll be saying such things over a plate of nachos salted with your own tears.
Look, I’m all about complaining, especially when it comes to travel. I’ve had my fair share of annoying experiences, ranging from pilots having caffeine withdrawal to kids constantly asking if they can have one of whatever candy I’m eating (the answer, for the record, is always no, unless you’ll be satisfied with the yellow flavor, which you NEVER. ARE.)
But I’m sitting here on this flight, taking off on time, plenty of overhead space and legroom. Despite the fact that I am heading back to the frozen tundra death trap of despair and crushed dreams, things are good. There are plenty of kids on the flight, but so far everyone is lovey and well-behaved.
Enter dramatic, exasperated, head-to-toe-in-Vinyard-Vines passenger. This guy is actually wearing full blown foundation and what I’m fairly certain is mascara. He sits down in the row across from me, takes one look at the row behind him, and, in the rudest, most unnecessarily put-upon fashion, sighs and exclaims, “EVERY time I fly, there are children on the plane. EVERY TIME! Just my luck!”
Ok, man. Relax. You’re not allowed to be annoyed by the sheer fact that children exist on this plane. Children make up a fairly large part of the population, and if you think you’re going to get on a 200-person plane and not encounter any, you’re about as delusional as I was this morning when I considered faking Ebola symptoms in order to not have to fly back to NY. This is a plane, not a cocktail bar on a Saturday night. Children (even babies!) are allowed to be here. Furthermore, you’re on a 12:05pm Delta flight from West Palm Beach during a school vacation, not a chopper stealthily escaping war-torn Afghanistan in the middle of the night. That is pretty much the only flight situation I can think of that might have a chance of not involving children.
So relax, man. These kids are being lovely.
In the meantime, keep eating your heavily spiced Mexican food in this cramped, confined spice before they’ve turned on the AC. Because that’s FAR less offensive and avoidable than the existence of kids.
P.S. When these kids start pissing me off, I’m totally on your side.