//------------------------------//
// 4: Digestive Disasters 
// Story: Tales of a high-altitude coffee and tea dispenser 
// by hiigaran 
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By this point, I’m sure you’ve glanced a couple of times at the large bottle on the table, so I think I’ll get this story out of the way.

We had just received the call from the Captain that we had twenty minutes until top of descent, or ‘top’ for short. Top is basically the point at which cruise ends, and we begin descending to the airport. Top is also the point at which the crew start dancing and celebrating the end of a flight, shedding themselves of their in-flight service uniforms and donning their ground uniforms. So once again, I’m at the back of the aircraft in the galley, ensuring all the paperwork has been completed. While I completed the alcohol stocktake and juice order forms, the rest of the crew were busy in the dark cabin answering call bells, assisting the mid-galley operator with her paperwork and sealing of containers, or planning ahead for landing preparations, while avoiding waking up the passengers on this night flight. It was at this point that the events of an unspeakable horror would unfold.

Placing my signature against one of the forms I was filling out, I turned around to hear a young colt stumble into the galley, clutching his stomach with his hoof. The brown colt, whom was wearing one of those helicopter hats, looked up at me. I recognized him immediately as the unaccompanied minor we were taking to Ponyville.

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“Nooooooo...” he groaned.

Seeing a child in distress, the first instinct of many of the female crew would be to run up and give the colt a hug, going 'aww, you poor thing', or some other mushy maternal action. With my disdain for children however, and a long history of close calls with nauseous passengers, my first instinct was to back away and grab a can of ginger ale to help sooth that upset stomach. Though by the time I had frantically retrieved the can and offered it to the colt, his face appeared to turn a subtle shade of green, and his cheeks began to swell as if he was playing a bagpipe. Unfortunately, I suspected more than just air would be blown through his pursed lips shortly.

Throughout my career as a flight attendant—and trust me, it’s quite a long one—many ungodly sights have taken place right before my eyes. I’ve seen an intoxicated mother change her filly’s diaper on a seat, only to hurl a partially-digested mixture of tomato juice and vodka ineffectively into said diaper, then run up and down the aisle in a frenzy, repeatedly shouting "It got in my mouth!" I’ve seen a stallion projectile vomit the four casseroles he vacuumed up towards unsuspecting passengers three rows ahead, resulting in a domino effect that caused two others to participate and turn the cabin into an abominable jumping fountain of gastric art. I’ve witnessed the Elements of Harmony Applejack and Rainbow Dash taking turns hurling their stomach contents into each others’ laps, as if playing some twisted game of ‘Bet You Can’t Beat That’.

Despite everything, I always had one thing going for me. No matter how many sick bags I’ve had to seal in biohazard bags, no matter how many times I’ve had to scrub a steaming puddle of vomit out of the carpet, and no matter how many times I’ve felt as if my sense of smell would just give up and die on me after inhaling the pungent mixture of bile and airline food, I’ve always walked away with my uniform pristine and unsullied.

This time, I faced a primary school colt with his muzzle directed straight at me, and a stomach filled with tonight’s meal of ravioli and likely some helpings of chocolate from a basket one of the crew offered to the passengers. Moments after I realized he was about to explode, I propelled myself away from the left side of the galley, rolling out like Daring Do in that scene where she slips under the sliding door at the last moment. Coming to a stop at the right side aircraft door, I watched helplessly as the ensuing chaos played out in slow motion.

The first convulsion sprayed against the coffee machine, deflecting radially and coating the adjacent stowages upon impact. The colt managed to bring his hooves up to his mouth before the second wave came, but it appeared to worsen the situation, shooting a stream of the vile substance vertically, coating the ceiling and covering up the call bell indicators. As I continued watching with a mixture of shock and awe, his head began to swing side to side, saturating the remainder of the galley like a garden sprinkler.

As the passage of time returned to normal in the aftermath, I remained on the floor, staring into my poor galley as the extent of the fallout became apparent. Barely a surface remained untouched. If not from the direct impact of stomach juices, then from the force of gravity. Breathing through my mouth, I slowly stood up and approached the sobbing colt, avoiding the fluid dripping from the ceiling, while a mixture of emotions flowed through me. Repulsion and anger were definitely there, but I couldn’t help feel at least somewhat impressed with...with THAT.

He looked at me with puppy dog eyes, tears streaming down his face as he pleaded for forgiveness. That’s when I realized I had made a terrible mistake. His eyes bulged and cheeks inflated, before a final torrent of semi-solid matter covered me completely, working its way through my uniform and embedding itself into every follicle in my body. The worst part? The worst part was that I closed my mouth too late.

Deciding not to risk a neck wringing, the shaky colt disappeared into the cabin in a puff of smoke. I however, simply stood there alone, for a good long while, just coming to terms with my fate. I then proceeded to add my contribution to the galley floor.