After Paris

I was dozing on the plane, not really asleep and not really awake when the stewardess tapped me on the shoulder.

"Chicken or fish," she said.

"Neither. I should have a vegetarian meal."

"You don't," she said very matter-of-factly.

"I should. I ordered one. I had one on the way here."

She said she'd check and was gone for a couple minutes.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you don't have one. We have nothing special listed for you. Chicken or fish?"

"Neither."

"But you can move the meat off of it," she said, showing me one of the meals. It was covered in sauce. Even if I wanted the rice underneath, it was covered with what was either chicken or fish juice. I wasn't sure which.

"Really, neither," I said and put my headphones in and went back to sleep. I still can't understand how it happened: I had a vegetarian meal on my two flights to Paris. I had one on the last leg back to Busan. Why not on the 12 hour flight from Paris to Tokyo? I'm not quite sure. In any case, I was glad I brought snacks.

R