The Vomit Comet (longish)
Author: bughunter
Email: bughunter@earthlink.nosolicitards.net
Date: 1998/10/03
Forums: alt.tasteless
Ahh, the holiday season approaches. I have so many fondle^H^H memories of
the holidays, that when the Southern California air turns transparent, and
the days shorten, I can't help but reminisce...
SFX: Wave hands sinuously downwards, while making 'bdrdrdrdr' sounds.
I was flying United from Seattle to Sacramento to visit my parents for
Christmas. Normally this is a short, uneventful flight lasting about
1:45.
But on this December flight in 1989, I had the aviation experience of a
lifetime. For you see, this time United had generously donated about half
the seats on this flight to help relocate about 70 or so Vietnamese
refugees fresh off their rickety, waterlogged boat. They were being
transferred from Seattle, where they would just be a burden on the welfare
system, to California, where they could start wonderful new careers in the
field of migrant farm working. (Heh - I made a pun!)
Some place like The Gap had kindly donated new clothes, so that all of
these fishy-smelling rice eaters were dressed in identical khaki and
olive. But somebody must have forgot to bathe them.
As I boarded in Seattle, I noticed a distinct fishy odor to the cabin,
redolent of putrescine - the odorific molecule responsible for the stench
of rotting flesh. "What the hell died in here," I wondered aloud. The
wrinkly old lady in the row next to me looked embarrased, and pointed
towards the back of the cabin and filled me in on the refugee situation.
"Ugh," I muttered, "good thing it's hard to smell at altitude."
So I settled in and opened my designated air nipple all the way and waited
for the engines to start so that I could breathe again. As we took off
and reached altitude, all was normal, except for the odor. When the
captain came over the PA, I learned that in honor of the holiday, Eggnog
would be available on the drink cart. I hated eggnog. I hate it even
more after that flight. The captain also warned us that other pilots had
reported "moderate turbulence" on our route. (Can you say
'foreshadowing?' I knew you could.)
We levelled off and the beverage cart came around, dishing out alcohol and
eggnog. But the gooksprogs had never been on an airplane before, and sure
enough, they were all out of their seats and running around the cabin.
The crew serving drinks were quite frustrated, trying to maneuver around
these kids, none of whom spoke English. But they all got free eggnog.
Now at the time, neither I nor the crew considered the fact that these
gooks had never tasted anything so rich in thier lives as eggnog. Of
course, they loved it, and all the sprogs gulped theirs down, waving their
paper cups demanding more. And they got seconds... and then the
turbulence hit.
Maybe you've encountered what the FAA refers to as "medium chop." I'd
sure hate to encounter heavy chop... because I lost half of my beer before
I could surround the contents of the can with my gut. My empty can was
thrown off of my tray and landed on the floor as we experienced brief
moments of weightlessness...
And the flight crew was frantic. They were trying to snare two dozen
gooksprogs that were careening about the cabin, and place them in seats.
Any seats. But as soon as they had seated one, and strapped them in,
another was unbuckled and dashing about the cabin. Shortly, the crew
became frustrated, and began raising thier voices at the sproglets, in the
traditional American heterolingual communication strategy. This only
pissed off the gookparents, who began yelling back at the crew that were
verbally abusing their precious sprogs.
That's when the double-shots of eggnog appeared for thier encore. With a
vengance.
The first gook to chunder his eggnog must have been in the back of the
plane, because the smell hit me before the sounds did. Eggnog yack.
Ugh. Before I knew what was happening, the chainchunder effect took
hold. Row by row, the gooksprogs were reexperienceing their eggnog. It
was like a technicolor stadium wave... Welcome to America!
One little fucker was standing in the aisle one row ahead of me when he
puked eggnog all over the center aisle - a big yellowish puddle began
spreading and dancing as the turbulence continued to shake the plane. And
sure enough, this little shit slipped in his own puke and fell on his ass
right in the middle of the pukepuddle, decorating his new clothes with
spiced dairy product.
I don't suffer from sympathetic horking, luckily, but the old lady next to
me began the dry heaves... but I wasn't so worried about her as I was
worried about this little gook covered in heaved eggnog crawling to his
feet next to me. As the plane tossed again, and the gooksprog pitched my
way, I grabbed his arm and threw him down the aisle behind me - right into
a flight attendant. Splat.
From there, the scene began to get under control, the crew got the
pukegooks strapped in, and the turbulence diminished. But the rest of the
flight I had to evade a spreading puddle of pukenog, and endure the
horrific odor of fish-tainted nogvomit gookvapors. The inflight magazine
crossword puzzle helped.
When I arrived in Sacratomato an hour later, and met my parents at the
gate, they asked "what's that smell?"
"You don't want to know," I replied. But of course, I told them... And
what did Mom have waiting at home for us?
Eggnog.
(
geocities.com/sunsetstrip/disco/3645) (
geocities.com/sunsetstrip/disco) (
geocities.com/sunsetstrip)