From the Department of Movies that Could’ve Been So, So Different

I’ve had it with these motherfucking snacks on this motherfucking plane!

So, okay, there’s this flight attendant, and you know what he’s tired of? Everyone complaining. It’s like, they’re still on the tarmac, and one lady’s pulling his sleeve, like “could you do something about that baby?” And he’s all “sure, ma’am, I’m on it,” but he’s thinking “WTF?” Like, what does she want from him? He’s going to tap the kid on the shoulder, all “excuse me, sir, but your howling is bothering other passengers. Would you mind keeping it down?” Life doesn’t work that way. Babies on planes don’t work that way. Nothing works that way.

There’s some guy in the back, and he could use a drink. He doesn’t know what kind, and he’s dithering and pointing, and it’s like, dude. You’re on a plane. You drink ginger ale or tomato juice or tiny-bottle booze, and those are your options. Pick one.

There’s a lady eating kippers and a man scratching his crotch. There’s a kid who keeps texting, and he’s told her ten times, “time to turn that off.” And she does for five minutes, then she’s at it again—and the defiance is one thing, but the eyerolling, fuck, and that adolescent tchah—that phone belongs down her throat.

Someone’s just puked.

There’s an emotional support possum.

Our flight attendant, his trousers aren’t working right. His flies keep coming down, and he’s heard a zillion variants of “flyin’ low, Joe,” and why does no-one have a twist-tie or a keyring, anything he could use to hook the zip?

Some dumbfuck opens his peanuts. He does it all wrong, and it’s a peanut grenade. And our man, he takes one in the eye. He’s staggering around the aisle, clutching his face, and what does he hear?

“I’ve had it with these motherfucking snacks on this motherfucking plane.”

This guy throws his peanuts. Someone throws one back. A food fight breaks out. Everybody’s, like, kung pao fighting. That possum’s started biting. It’s all a little bit frightening. There’s been an alien sighting. O-ho-ho-ho! O-ho-ho-ho!

…yeah. Sorry about that. Sometimes, I have nothing to say.