Suffer the little children
20th February, 2008
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The whine began as the aircraft started its take-off roll and for a moment I thought it was the sound of the engines as they spooled up to full power. It continued as we gained altitude and remained at the aural pain threshold as the aircraft settled into level flight. "Funny," I thought. "If the engines are in cruise mode, why are my ears hurting?"
At that point, I looked over my shoulder and into the purple-red face of a child of about three who appeared about to explode. It was not so much crying as shrieking, its eyes closed, mouth open and fists clenched as it vented its fury at the world. "Oh goody," I thought. "Only two-and-a-half hours to Adelaide," I looked at its parents and immediately recognised them as being of the type to have perfected the "Crying child? What crying child?" approach. Screaming children, like dogs and souls with a less-than-firm grip on reality, follow me through life. There is Sarge, the evil-tempered, undersized dog that belongs to our neighbours and that snarls and snaps at anyone who attempts to come within arm's length - except me. If I enter the room he takes one look and all but swoons, pausing only in his adoration to bite anyone else within range. German shepherds are the only breed not to be swayed by the Willems charm and will, generally speaking, attack me on sight. Two of them have done so, which for me is a sufficient number to prove the point. Those dear people who live in a world of their own making will seek me out in shopping centres, carparks and bars and have a chat, ignoring the hundreds of other people passing by. They're lovely, charming people I'm sure, but there are times when you don't necessarily feel inclined to engage in conversation with a total stranger who does not appear to have bathed in several months and who smells strongly of cat urine. It's the screaming children, however, who pursue me wherever I travel that I find most endearing. Their parents, I know, loiter at airport counters asking if Willems has checked in yet and requesting a seat directly behind me so they can place their bellowing child a handy ten centimetres from my ear. God made his position on children clear when he said: "Suffer the little children to come unto me and forbid them not, for such is the Kingdom of God." He did not, however, have to deal with children on planes and if air travel had been invented when Jesus was on Earth, He might have said: "Suffer the little children to come unto me but not on any flight lasting longer than 30 minutes." I'm prepared to tolerate the odd squeal and there have been times when, after being crammed into an economy seat for half a day, a seat in which any one of Snow White's Seven Dwarfs would have had trouble finding a comfortable position, I've felt like screaming myself. Several hours of unremitting howling, however, I find a bit of a stretch. Airlines should be required to reserve the last row of seats for people with whining children and to seal these off from the rest of the aircraft with a soundproof wall. Perhaps they could also consider special adults-only flights. No topless or bottomless flight attendants (although, that is a nice idea), just an absolute ban on anyone under the age of five being allowed to board. While I'm in the mood for political incorrectness, I'd like to make a call for a Large Persons section as well. Why should I have to lose half my seat space and have my head forced nose-first into the aircraft window because the person sitting beside me is so obese that flesh spills over the armrest and onto my lap? Another airtight section for those passengers emitting body odour capable of melting paint would also be a worthy innovation. That's large persons, smelly persons and screaming kids dealt with. Not bad for a day's work. What's next, I wonder? |
