Chicken or Polonium?

The moment I dread the most after the seatbelt sign goes off is the meal service. Not because I will repeat the choice of the day a million times even though right before I start a PA to all the cabin has been made. Not because each time I will get you your tray I will also tell you that drinks will be served “in a moment” but that won’t keep you from poking at me a zillion times asking “can I get a drink?”. No, not because of that. Nor is it because you might ask for a vegetarian out of the blue. I can make a vegetarian appear out of thin air in no time.

That’s not what I dread. What I dread is running out of chicken. Ask me to do a CPR on a zombie, to evacuate an aircraft on fire in less than 90 seconds, to list all the airport codes in the world, to do a month of red eye flight. But don’t make me run out of chicken!!! 

The difference with running out of a chicken and unprotected sex is that the morning-after pill has more chances of reducing the risks of an unwanted pregnancy than making a full grown up adult understand that running out of chicken is not a disaster of epic proportions. 

There are 4 types of reactions to the fatal question of chicken or fish.

1) Pronounce each syllable in the word chicken as loud as you can because you think I never heard it before and I might confuse it with the word fish.

2) Say chicken even before I had the chance to say what’s on the menu and sound like your life would depend on the first option only. 

3) Taking 30 seconds to pretend to think if you’re having chicken or fish when you already know you’re not having fish.

4) Make a face as if I asked you to chose between chicken and polonium.

From time to time a fucktard will show a combination of all of the above.

Asking a passenger to choose between chicken or fish is like asking to chose between life and death. But if the only two options were fish and death, I’m almost certain they would still chose death over fish. Why???

I’ve tried to alternate the menu by saying fish first and then chicken. But it didn’t work. I even pretended I mixed up the fish with the chicken. But you handed it back to me. Grrr.

Let’s be honest. It’s not your first flight. You’re also aware that at some point in time if I’m out chicken the only choice I will give you is fish or fish. Try it. There aren’t any much left in the sea anyway. One day-and that’s going to be pretty soon-when all the fishes will have disappeared you’ll remember that one time you had fish was on a plane. You’ll remember how you didn’t like it. That will make you a nice story to tell to your grandkids when you’re old and senile. Or you could just die. What’s the deal. Nobody will miss someone who acts like a cunt just because we’d ran out of chicken. I won’t.

If you don’t eat fish there’s a third option. It’s shutting the fuck up and having the goddamn fish.I’m not asking you not to eat. Because that’s what you like to yell hoping I’ll feel bad that you won’t be eating anything on board. But guess what, the only emotions I get since I work on planes is rolling my eyes.

You never eat fish. What does it have to do with me? This is not a David Copperfield trick where I can turn a hake filet into a chicken thigh. If I could make such a thing happen. Trust me I’d be making a shit load of money and wouldn’t be dragging my corpse working on a plane having to deal with a pain in the ass such as you. 

Or maybe you mistook me with that dude from that book who turns water in wine, walks on water and multiplies loaves of bread? Technically flying above the sea and walking up and down these aisles is like walking on water. I can’t change water into wine but I can make you a bloody mary. For the bread I didn’t personally multiply them. They’re some extra the caterer provided. 

Looks like I just found myself a new vocation. If I can do these things at 40 000 feet I could be the guru of a new religion on dry land. I have all the qualities of a guru. I made the false promise to improve the temperature of the freezing cabin but I didn’t and you said it was fine now. Just like a good disciple. Welcome to the Church of Fishology. 

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