In what can only be described as the universe’s most elaborate practical joke, British aviation authorities are now demanding accountability after it emerged that the victims of the recent Air India crash were not, in fact, on the plane. The revelation has sent shockwaves through the industry, though one must admit it does explain the suspiciously low body count and the fact that the sole ‘survivor’ was a grumpy marmalade cat from Slough.
Initial reports suggested that Flight AI-127 from Mumbai to London had plunged into the Arabian Sea with 247 souls aboard. Rescue teams scoured the waves for hours, finding only a floating duty-free bag and a half-eaten samosa. But then, in a twist that would make M. Night Shyamalan blush, it was discovered that the passenger manifest was purely fictional. The names were apparently culled from a 2012 copy of ‘Who’s Who in Bollywood’ and a Greggs loyalty card.
‘We are deeply concerned,’ said a spokesman for the British Civil Aviation Authority, adjusting his tie and looking very grave indeed. ‘It appears that the aircraft was empty except for the pilot, who is also missing, and what we believe to be a portable television playing reruns of ‘Love Island’.’ The spokesman then paused to sip what looked suspiciously like a gin and tonic from a regulation mug.
Naturally, the usual suspects are pointing fingers. ‘This is a catastrophic failure of oversight,’ thundered a shadow minister for transport, who immediately demanded a public inquiry, a full review of aviation protocols, and a commemorative coin to mark the occasion. But really, who are we to judge? If any of us could escape the indignity of a 12-hour flight with screaming children and recycled air by simply not being on it, wouldn’t we?
Meanwhile, relatives of the ‘victims’ have been left in a state of profound confusion. One woman from Wembley, who had been sobbing for three days straight, was informed that her husband, a travel agent called Dave, was not on the flight because he had never actually booked it. ‘I thought he was in Mumbai for a conference,’ she wailed. ‘He’s actually been in the pub the whole time, hasn’t he?’ Dave was later traced to a Wetherspoons in Slough, where he was reportedly ‘gutted’ to have missed all the fuss.
The airline itself has been characteristically obtuse. ‘We are conducting a thorough investigation,’ read a statement from Air India, ‘into how our planes can crash without anyone aboard. We suspect the answer may involve quantum mechanics, or possibly a glitch in the matrix.’ A junior executive was later seen trying to sell tickets for a ‘ghost flight experience’ at a discounted rate.
But it is the British authorities who face the most pressing question: how did a empty plane get permission to crash? ‘We have rigorous checks,’ insisted the CAA spokesman, now on his second G&T. ‘Pilot IDs, baggage scans, even a brief character assessment. But apparently we missed the fact that the plane was just filled with cardboard cutouts and a mop that looked like a person.’ The mop has been taken in for questioning but is not cooperating.
In the grand tradition of British farce, the whole affair has become a sort of accidental satire. Politicians are calling for resignations, newspapers are printing front pages about the ‘phantom flight,’ and Twitter is having a field day. The hashtag #NotOnThePlane is trending alongside #WhereIsMyHusband and #BringBackTheMop.
As for the marmalade cat, it has been returned to its owner in Slough, who said, ‘Honestly, I’m not even surprised. He’s always been a bit of a drama queen.’ The owner then added that the cat had not been on the plane either, but had just wandered onto the runway during the rescue operation to cause a distraction. Which, if you think about it, is exactly the kind of accountability we need in aviation today.
