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.