The centerpiece of this chaos is an obnoxious guy in a Russian soccer shirt and his belligerent offspring.He’s something of a Vladimir Putin lookalike, sprawled sockless on a sofa with his naked feet hanging over the rail, playing a game on his phone. When I complain to the woman at the desk, she simply smiles and says “Oh so sorry sir.” Absolutely no effort is made to actually quiet the kids down.
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We paid for the tickets, the argument goes, so we have a right to be here, and hey, it’s just kids being kids, right?
Actually, no, I’m sorry, this is not a legitimate justification.
But when I get there, I discover the lounge isn’t simply overcrowded (as so many premium class lounges tend to be these days).
It’s overcrowded and they won’t shut up: yelling and crying and running around like it’s recess on the school playground.
When boarding is announced, I practically run onto the plane. And as babies are wont to do, the little darling treats the rest of us to a five-hour long, blood-curdling repertoire of periodic yelping and screaming fits.