"I love kids. Boiled and fried." - W.C. Fields
Time: June 11, 2016
Place: Main Airport in Qatar in the Persian Gulf
Kids are a royal pain in the ass - unless I need a photography subject. Then, for that brief few clicks of the shutter, they transform into autofocus angels, only to revert back to the rightful mongrels that they really are.
To bring them to their full demonic prime however it takes an airport. Brutalized by 13 hours of air travel, the parents, now too weary to be anyones guardian, leave the kids to run amok in the steel and glass crib. The results are nothing less than an aeronautical version of “Lord of the Flies”. Kicking, screaming, running into old ladies, fighting, grabbing items off of shelves, yelling, throwing things, jumping on chairs and having complete meltdowns are the norm for these tiny, terrible, terrazzo - tantrumed, tots. All this pandemonium, noise and raucous behavior makes one nod in agreement with ancient Canaanite child sacrifices. And it highlights what a greedy opportunistic little robber baron that Oliver Twist was when he ask for “more”. That swine.
But there is one fell creature that can bring the adult airline passenger down into the very bowels of Hell itself. That “thing” is a crying baby.
The sound of a crying baby in an airplane or airport brings you to your very knees like live electrical jumper cables attached to your scrotum. The shrill, banshee like cry is like getting maced in the face, stabbed in the ear with a red hot ice pick and run over by a lawnmower all in the same second. At that moment, at that very instant that the sound waves hit your tender ears you would give anything to make it stop. You would give your condo to the homeless, sell your grandmother to medical science, give away your kidneys on e-bay for free, French kiss a leper , and cash- that worthless paper- you would hand it off in wheel barrows without hesitation to make that damn embryo stop screaming for even a nano second. The airport’s tiled walls mean that one scream will echo off all the walls and linger like mustard gas. That indescribable wail bouncing off of all surfaces has you feeling like Kennedy on the Grassy Knoll taking bullets from all sides.
Even Kennedy would rather smoke babies and kiss cigars….
…….or perhaps children are fine and I just need a shower and some sleep after three days without either…….
The in flight screen aboard Qatar Airways. His "Excellency"? Really? How do these self important assholes decide on the titles by which they wish to be called? Do they "hint" to their underlings with which titles they want to be called and hope the title sticks? Do they make a formal announcement? Do they ask those who serve them to come up with a fitting title and "get back to me by Friday with the results?"
I wish I could get this Vasoline palmed prat on to my construction site.
The dialogue would go something like this: "Well your Excellency. You have exactly 20 minutes to get this F-ing wall framed or I will light your robes on fire and kick your lilly white ass!"
I may have to hunt this butt white camel jockey down when I get back to Qatar and put the squeeze on him.
(The in flight screen) Ive taken more flights to and from Islamic countries than I can count. You ALWAYS know where Mecca is in case you get a religious hard on while flying and
have to pray. Ive seen stewards praying, bowing down at the back of the plane on Egypt Airways. Pakistan Airways has an a prayer on board before you fly....etc.....
Funny what a comic book can make one do....
