Flight ZA53’s passengers, escaping to exotic golden sands and warm tropical waters far from the snow and ice of a winter-gripped England, were all ears.
“This is your Captain speaking. We are experiencing a slight technical problem. Please fasten your…”
The PA crackled then died. Cabin noise increased to a roar as the aircraft juddered violently and plummeted towards turbulent waves below.
Cassandra Fortescue-Jones drained her brimming champagne flute before the rapid descent slopped the bubbly over the side.
“Needs a refill,” Cassandra’s fat fingers waved her champagne flute knocking the attendant’s navy-blue hat with cheery red band into the aisle.
“Madam, we have an emergency situation.”
“I paid a first-class fare and demand first-class service.”
“I’ve more urgent things to worry about than your first-class service. Fasten your seat belt.” The Flight Attendant continued to stagger down the aisle, her hat twisted to one side.
“Brace for impact,” the aircraft ditched into the roiling sea.
“Madam, your shoes,” the First Officer bellowed as Cassandra shoved past him, preparing to shoot her lumpy body down the slowly inflating escape slide, spiky heels ready to rip into the nylon.
“No need to shout,” she screamed back, stilettos in hand as she hurtled down the slide and leapt into the rubber life-raft attached at the bottom.
“My cosmetics case,” a frantic cry rang out. Cassandra pouted Botoxed lips and batted dewy water-resistant mascaraed eyelashes at the First Officer. “Can we paddle back and look for it? It might be floating in the water. It’s Italian, in a lovely raspberry and gold shade. Cost a fortune.”
He ignored her as the aircraft’s fuselage became a tiny visage as the raft drifted further away.
“Repulsive oaf,” she glowered, as the head of the man next to her fell into her lap.
On the far side of the raft the Flight Attendant watched what appeared to be a caring woman comforting a young man.
“She crawled across to Cassandra. “Can you help with the injured?”
“Good luck with that,” the First Officer gave a tiny snigger.
“I need help,” she held up a broken nail. “And I’ve a throbbing headache.”
“Your nail’s not an injury and we’ve all got a headache.” The Flight Attendant removed the young man and sandwiched him between two more compassionate survivors.
“You’ll regret your insolence,” Cassandra leapt angrily to her feet. A gigantic wave deluged the raft then swept back out to sea—taking her with it.
“Throw me a lifebelt,” a dizzying scream rang out across the waves.
“We don’t carry lifebelts.” The First Officer’s voice drifted back.
Cassandra disappeared beneath the surface in a whirlpool of froth. Fifteen minutes later she floated back to the surface; food for the sharks—when they arrived to dine on the first-class fare.