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It grabbed onto your intestines, dragging it down with it's claws and sent your stomach to oblivion. Feeling it go down my throat, I knew that I had made the wrong choice.
The interior of the building was lit up with the bright colors of the sun streaming through the massive windows marking the border between the gate and the runway. There were no clouds in sight, as back to back plane flights departed and landed at the San Jose Airport. A white plane marked with blue diagonal stripes made its way to the gate as it's three wheels somehow brought the huge plane from the runway. Thirty minutes later, the deserted seats on the plane started to become filled with people as boarding started for the flight to Japan.
“We are now beginning boarding for ANA flight 171 non-stop service from the Norman Y. Mineta San Jose International Airport to the Tokyo Narita International Airport,” a voice rang over the intercom.
Luckily, we were going to Tokyo, and not directly to Shanghai. An 11 hour flight to Tokyo was a lot better than the annoying 13 hour one going to Shanghai. But soon, every bit of happiness and joy soon fell, ahem, got dumped, right out the window after just one little incident.
The blue and white plane had just made it's way over Alaska’s chain of way too many islands when it suddenly became breakfast. 6 hours hours had past after we left the Bay Area and I was already through with this plane, no matter how much shorter this stupid flight was. Food carts rolled down aisleways as the plane suddenly became lively after the many hours of dim boringness. Windows started opening, showing vast blankets of blue with smaller green specs here and there as our breakfast got passed down the seats and people suddenly decided that the screen in front of them was worth using. My sister and I chose the Japanese option, noodles with tea and various fruits, while my mom chose the ever so deadly Western omelette with fruits.
I had just finished eating my noodles, that I accidentally dumped in the tea since we thought it was soup… oops… when my mom asked if we wanted her omelette of death.
“Sure,” I agreed. Apparently, pale green cheese isn’t a good enough hint for me to say “Get that disaster out of my sight,”
Cheese was oozing out between the layers of egg with some bell pepper and ham poking out through the edges. A garnish of some mysterious herb on top, just so it would look promising and delightful, but actually hiding it's devilish and puke insisting ways. If omelettes could snarl, this one did.
Using the fork that came with the “delicious meal,” I cut off the smallest piece ever from the corner of the omelette and put it in my mouth.
I could literally feel my taste buds dying… and rebelling…
My face morphed into a look that probably would have sent honey badgers running for their moms, my hands decided that they would become claws as they tried to kill the air around it, moving in directions I didn’t know they could move in. I twitched at the thought of having to experience that going down my throat as I gulped with an expression of disgust and grossness.
The cheese tasted like your worst nightmare, because cheese can so totally haunt you, the egg had the consistency of plastic, and the bell pepper felt like they were picked sixteen hours too early. The combination of this horrid mistake went down your esophagus like watching snails racing through peanut butter, which is to say, slowly. Once it finally landed into your stomach with a plop, you could feel it bubbling as the gastric acids decided that it had to go… faster.
Luckily I took a small bite, or else it all would have landed on the omelette, forcing it to show its true nature.
That omelette with two squirrel sized bites in it was left on that plate and sent to it's doom after we gave it back to the flight attendant gathering the trays and untouched foods.
I hope that it got crushed to pieces and sent to the bottom of the Mariana Trench, where it would burn up and never see the light of day again.