To the Jamboree!

Colin and I both have an uncanny ability to attract the most irritating people that you could imagine having to endure while in flight.
I don't know how it is that it happens so frequently.
I'm confident that all major airlines have our names on file.
A lot of establishments likely have our names on file; we're influential people.
We're also very irritable people, he and I - especially during the morning.
I blame his general impatience and bitterness, which Colin has brewing in him continuously.
Personally, I find that people generally aren't paying enough attention to me in the morning, which makes me crabby. And grumpy.
Airport. It's 9am, approximately.
We're not pressed for time, necessarily, but it is also not on our side (because I'm involved).
We rush through security and decide to get some coffee on the other side, obviously.
So, we line up at dirty Tim Horton's as we wait for our flight to be called.
There are a lot of 8 to 11 year-old boys milling about.
They're wearing matching jackets and I'm instantly concerned. A lot of them are wearing safari hats.
I think that you shouldn't be allowed to wear a safari hat unless you either:
A) live in Africa, or
B) are on safari.
Then I see some older gentlemen walking around, yelling random cautionaries that group leaders tend to yell:
"Alright, stay together guys."
"Tyler, you're a little too young to get coffee, buddy."
"Jacob, you'd better take your pill now, before we get on the plane."
Scouts, they're Scouts. From The Goulds.
I certainly don't want to be presumptuous, but I would venture that Scouts from The Goulds probably do not travel beyond The Goulds very often.
The Scouts are all very excitable while I notice that some of the fathers are wearing the hats, too.
As I examine one be-freckled fellow doing a head count, with his socks and sandals, and his safari hat on with the drawstring behind his neck rather than in front of it, I am reminded that wiener people produce wiener children.
They get old, find a partner who also enjoys tapioca pudding and safety parameters, and then marry. They have sex, likely through a sheet of some sort, and then the whole cycle perpetuates.
It's a damn shame.
"There must have been a sale on those hats," I say to Colin. I try to say it as loudly as possible.
I know these pre-pubescents are going to be near us on the flight. Colin knows it, too.
We discuss this as we wait for the line to dwindle.

So, we're heading towards our seats at the back of the plane, and I overhear some kid shout: "Cool, we're sitting right in the back!"
I'll spare you the details.
However, some things that were shouted loudly by the little scabs include:
"I can see a lake! I can see houses!"
"There is a TV!"
"Go to channel 8! The music is wicked!" (this is yelled with particular gusto because the little one is listening to the wicked music on channel 8 at the time, and therefore can't monitor his own volume properly).
"I feel so light! Now I'm heavy! Now I'm light!"
(to a stewardess) "This must be a cool job!"
I decide that I'm going to drink beer in Halifax during our stopover.