It is a real primeval need, which has nothing to do with hunger.
It is a well known fact that food on aeroplanes is notoriously bad, I mean really bad. Microwaved pizza, sponge bread sandwiches, you know the sort of thing. Pringles are always a good choice and a definite family favourite. But they are approximately 5 times the price of the supermarket, which makes them a big indulgence.
Yet with full knowledge that the price and the quality are not all correlated, I just can't wait for the trolley to come round and to place my order. As I wait, I even begin to get nervous. Look at all those people ordering the same thing I want. Will there be anything left for me? I often get anxious when the trolley comes to a standstill and they begin searching for the last soggy sandwich in the depths of the little wheely wagon. I secretly begin hoping and praying they still have my choice. Please, please, please, have one left for me.
So what is this irrational desire all about? Is it idiosyncratic behaviour, namely when I sit in an aeroplane seat, within 30 minutes, my brain is conditioned to expect food? Or is it just boredom and a great time filler?
So as I sit here in 15B, heading west to Calgary, I blog away quietly, desperately filling in the time until the trolley comes tootling by, filled with goodies, waiting to be bought by suckers like me.
Here it comes, got to go.
Bon appetit
It is a well known fact that food on aeroplanes is notoriously bad, I mean really bad. Microwaved pizza, sponge bread sandwiches, you know the sort of thing. Pringles are always a good choice and a definite family favourite. But they are approximately 5 times the price of the supermarket, which makes them a big indulgence.
Yet with full knowledge that the price and the quality are not all correlated, I just can't wait for the trolley to come round and to place my order. As I wait, I even begin to get nervous. Look at all those people ordering the same thing I want. Will there be anything left for me? I often get anxious when the trolley comes to a standstill and they begin searching for the last soggy sandwich in the depths of the little wheely wagon. I secretly begin hoping and praying they still have my choice. Please, please, please, have one left for me.
So what is this irrational desire all about? Is it idiosyncratic behaviour, namely when I sit in an aeroplane seat, within 30 minutes, my brain is conditioned to expect food? Or is it just boredom and a great time filler?
So as I sit here in 15B, heading west to Calgary, I blog away quietly, desperately filling in the time until the trolley comes tootling by, filled with goodies, waiting to be bought by suckers like me.
Here it comes, got to go.
Bon appetit
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