As Monty Python used to say …
And now for something completely different.
Once upon a time, there was a pilot who had to fly an airplane very far, far north.
The pilot had done lots of flying before, but not very far, far north.
The pilot was looking forward to this trip.
On the morning of the flight, the pilot was up early in the dark darkness of the northern winter. It was very cold, but the airplane was in a warm hangar.
The pilot got the airplane ready as passengers gathered in the waiting room with their bags, boxes, a bunch of freight, two hamsters and one dog.
Now, this dog had to travel in the passenger cabin because … well, because there’s no freight compartment on this particular aircraft type.
This airplane is what’s called a combi – it carries a mix of passengers and freight, all on one level.
The pilot went inside to talk to the owner of this dog. It was a really big dog. A Great Dane. Its hair was really short and it was wearing a coat. It looked cold, miserable and scared.
It was shivering and shaking.
The pilot asked the owner to make sure that the dog had done its business before getting aboard.
It was a three hour flight; it’s not like there would a place to pull over and stop.
The owner assured the pilot that the dog had pooped, peed and burped.
Okay, thought the pilot. Let’s load and get this show on the road, so to speak.
40 minutes later, all was loaded and everyone was taxiing along just as the sun was coming up over a northern winter horizon.
The pilot applied power and started the take-off roll.
A satisfying back pressure as the aircraft lifted off …
Reaching altitude … settling in … And then, and then …
What is that God-awful stench?
If you took one of Lebron James’s basketball shoes after a number of heavy practises, stuck it in a vat of boiled cabbage, buried it under a chicken coop, and left it there for several weeks … then maybe you can imagine this malodorous vapour.
The pilot sent the co-pilot back to investigate.
He came scurrying back, turned green and promptly threw up all over the radios.
Chunks started to befoul the throttle levers as they slowly slid down the panel.
The pilot, floating by now on the ghastliest sea of odiferous gases, directed the co-pilot to do what he could to clean up himself and the cockpit.
With the autopilot on, the pilot went back to take a look, and … almost threw up too.
For there in the first row, the very large Great Dane had pooped a mutant-sized mound of poo. And was sort of standing in it. A baby elephant would have been proud.
The owner sat there, unreactive as the entire cabin starting collapsing into various stages of tummy trouble. He pretended not to notice.
Retching slightly, the pilot told the owner to clean up the mess.
“With what?” he snarled, “My bare hands?”
“If you have to, yes! Don’t you have any poo bags?” the pilot snarled back. “My co-pilot is sitting up there with a major case of the heaves. Now start cleaning this up!”
“I don’t have anything to put it in. I don’t have anything to pick it up with. What am I supposed to do?”
But a chorus, a groundswell, began from the back of the plane. Items starting finding their way to the front. Bags, hand sanitizers, towels and even a plastic spoon.
Sometimes, on your journey through life, you encounter twits with giant mounds of poo. But often, there are ordinary people who will help out with whatever they have, and will give you the hand sanitizer out of their pockets.
(And everyone lived to happily disembark the poo plane.)
You? What poo plane have you had in your life?