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And while perhaps you have the right to bring your kids along with you, you do have the right to ruin the experience of those around you.

It’s quiet, quiet, quiet again; then suddenly there’s more screaming. Asiana has separate lounges at ICN for first and business class.

This repeats over and over, at erratic intervals of varying duration and loudness. It’s okay, because the best and most important parts of this journey is yet to come: I’ll have two hours to kill at Asiana’s lounge at the amazing Incheon airport, followed by the 13-hour flight to JFK in my state-of-the-art “Smartium” business class seat on the 777. The business lounge is a sumptuous room of dark wood-tones, plush chairs, a piano and rows of bookshelves.

It’s a creak-creak-creak-creak — the sound of a wheeled apparatus approaching. As the carriage wheels in alongside, there’s a great and sudden clattering of toys, food containers and juice cartons. Look at that adorable child napping peacefully like that. Please, I say to myself, don’t let them be sitting near me. They are in the row ahead of me, in the seats next to me, and in the row behind me too. They’re climbing over the seat-backs, their heads popping up, whack-a-mole style.

Things spill to the floor as the mom yells orders in Korean at the two toddlers, who answer back in barks and squeals and a chorus of hollering. This is only marginally helpful, however, because by now the place has filled up, and no shortage of the visitors are kids, most of whom are carrying on. There are almost a hundred seats in the A380’s business class, so my chances are good, right? The adults in the group are obnoxious enough, shouting across the aisles at each other. One of the little girls is yelling out to her sister, whose name sounds like the word “Bay.” Every two minutes, for the next seven hours, she will scream,”BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

The shelves give it an almost library aesthetic, and I like that. I help myself to a triple espresso and set up my computer at a table near the back. And he’s of that certain age — that age between infant and toddler, when a voice begins to gain the sonic traction that allows it to carry.

There’s nobody around and I have the whole rear corner to myself. At the height of his discomfort this tiniest of humans is pushing ninety decibels.

The kid then lets out a piercing, blasting, hell-on-earth screech of enough decibels to blow the rudder off the airplane. This isn’t about protecting the “arrogant” flyers up front from the noisy riffraff in steerage.

Mom screams back yet again, louder still, in demented encouragement, then looks around, smiling, as if to say, isn’t my shrieking child just the cutest darned thing in the world? And here’s the thing: When you’re flying in long-haul first or business class, you aren’t merely paying for transportation. But in premium class there’s a higher standard and greater expectations.

A man comes out of the restroom with his two tiny sons, maybe three or four years old. Until I look up from my complimentary newspaper and there — there! ” When I can’t take it any more I walk over and ask the mother to please control her children.

The kids burst into a run, and as they pass me one of them lets out a scream so shrill that I think my coffee cup is going to crack. I made sure to choose one of the window seats with the console facing outward, toward the aisle — this creates a cubicle effect, as if you’re sitting there in your own little private jet. I’m going to put on my Asiana slippers, drink some wine, watch some movies, and dine on gourmet food before stretching out to rest in my full-flat sleeper. — one row ahead of me, and directly diagonal to my seat, is, you guessed it, a baby. I feel like the biggest asshole in the world, but this cost me a lot of money, and the whole point was to be comfortable and away from the usual racket.

Once again, at least for a moment, I’m relaxed and happy. Actually, it’s a baby carriage flanked by a mom and two toddlers, one on either side of a strapped-in infant. It’s a wailing, electric, claxon-like sound, like a nuclear attack alert, loud enough to rattle my tableware. Reading is impossible; sleeping is out of the question. It is so loud you cannot hear the public address announcements from the crew.