I flew from Doha to Munich the other week. And then onwards to Chicago. The Doha flight left at 2 am which kinda sucked, but lucky for me, while I was trying to talk my way into the Qatar Airways lounge with my United Mileage Plus card, some nice English gentleman let me in as his guest. So I helped myself to the baklava and red wine--drinking alone is totally acceptable in airline lounges--and I was nicely calm by the time my flight was called.
The flight was EMPTY. Empty. I hadn't seen a flight this empty since I flew from Chicago to Sweden two months after 9/11. I stretched out in a row by myself, admiring how empty the flight was and how much space I had. I put one of my bags on each of the four empty seats around me. (I am the master of carrying-on 16 bags in one bag and a small personal item.) I still had no leg room and the arm rests were oddly immovable, but I was still very happy.
Very, very happy.
Until, that is, the VIPs arrived.
Or, well, I should say...the servants of the VIPs arrived.
Right before we were scheduled to depart to Munich, a busload of people arrived and filled the first three rows of coach. A 2-5-2 seating arrangement and three rows of seats. There were three Filipino nannies, taking care of the youngest three children. Then three male servants of some sort, each with a ridiculous amount of carry-on luggage; a United Airlines flight attendant would never ever tolerate this. And then there were two elderly servants--a man and a woman--who I could only guess were long-term family employees. If you're with me on the math, that's 11 so far. The rest where children. Demon, demon children. At least five of them. Between the looting and the shouting and the running (running...ON A PLANE!), I lost count. Lost count!
After a surprisingly tasty dinner right after takeoff (the harder it is to find the country on a map, the better the food of the national airline), the flight attendants brought around a very civilized cart of tea and coffee and biscuits. I had taken two Tylenol PM by this point and was kinda out of it, but I was awake enough to see one of the daughters--not yet in hijab--approach the tea cart, open one of the drawers, and dump ALL of the the cookies into her outstretched t-shirt. She was a larger young girl. It was easy to understand why.
What then pursued was a biscuit-tossing session. From one side of the plane to the other. Which made one of the babies scream. Which made the other two babies scream. Which made the flight attendants scream. All while biscuits were being tossed in the air and LIFE JACKETS WERE BEING DEPLOYED. The scene upon disembarkation was what I can only imagine Lord of The Flies was like. Had I actually read it.
What did the parents say? (Is there a plural of parents? Because really...there was one father and many wives. How does one describe that in one word?) They said, from up in first class, the wives in their burqas, Louis Vuitton bags at the ready, "Kids will be kids."
I motioned to a flight attendant. "I fly I lot," I said, "And I've never seen children like these. Ever. They are like demons. Small demons, but large ones."
"I know," he said. "But what can I do? They are VIPs."
The flight was EMPTY. Empty. I hadn't seen a flight this empty since I flew from Chicago to Sweden two months after 9/11. I stretched out in a row by myself, admiring how empty the flight was and how much space I had. I put one of my bags on each of the four empty seats around me. (I am the master of carrying-on 16 bags in one bag and a small personal item.) I still had no leg room and the arm rests were oddly immovable, but I was still very happy.
Very, very happy.
Until, that is, the VIPs arrived.
Or, well, I should say...the servants of the VIPs arrived.
Right before we were scheduled to depart to Munich, a busload of people arrived and filled the first three rows of coach. A 2-5-2 seating arrangement and three rows of seats. There were three Filipino nannies, taking care of the youngest three children. Then three male servants of some sort, each with a ridiculous amount of carry-on luggage; a United Airlines flight attendant would never ever tolerate this. And then there were two elderly servants--a man and a woman--who I could only guess were long-term family employees. If you're with me on the math, that's 11 so far. The rest where children. Demon, demon children. At least five of them. Between the looting and the shouting and the running (running...ON A PLANE!), I lost count. Lost count!
After a surprisingly tasty dinner right after takeoff (the harder it is to find the country on a map, the better the food of the national airline), the flight attendants brought around a very civilized cart of tea and coffee and biscuits. I had taken two Tylenol PM by this point and was kinda out of it, but I was awake enough to see one of the daughters--not yet in hijab--approach the tea cart, open one of the drawers, and dump ALL of the the cookies into her outstretched t-shirt. She was a larger young girl. It was easy to understand why.
What then pursued was a biscuit-tossing session. From one side of the plane to the other. Which made one of the babies scream. Which made the other two babies scream. Which made the flight attendants scream. All while biscuits were being tossed in the air and LIFE JACKETS WERE BEING DEPLOYED. The scene upon disembarkation was what I can only imagine Lord of The Flies was like. Had I actually read it.
What did the parents say? (Is there a plural of parents? Because really...there was one father and many wives. How does one describe that in one word?) They said, from up in first class, the wives in their burqas, Louis Vuitton bags at the ready, "Kids will be kids."
I motioned to a flight attendant. "I fly I lot," I said, "And I've never seen children like these. Ever. They are like demons. Small demons, but large ones."
"I know," he said. "But what can I do? They are VIPs."
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