The Great Indian Male

An airline has a separate seating policy for this sub-species of homo sapiens

When I first arrived on this planet as an Indian male all those years ago, I never imagined that one day I would become a personal embodiment of a global embarrassment. Please don’t think I am exaggerating; I am not. Just the other day, I was settling down in my seat on a flight back from Antigua, where I had gone to say hello to a patriotic Indian businessman, when a girl in the seat next to mine asked me if I was Indian. When I said yes, she immediately signalled to the air hostess. When she came over, the girl pointed to me and said, “This creature… it come from India.”
A flight on a commode
So saying, she and the air marshal forcibly paraded me down the aisle, in full view of all the other passengers, to the back of the aircraft, where there was a small trap door. The air marshal opened the trap door to reveal a stepladder. He motioned to me to climb down, and when I did, I found myself in the cargo hold. All the baggage and other cargo items were stacked up on one side, while on the other were a dozen plastic seats. These were all occupied by Indian-looking men. It was when the air marshal made me sit down that I realised they were all toilet seats.
“You want me to spend the entire flight sitting on a commode?” I asked, outraged.
“We can’t take any chances, sir,” the air hostess said. “What if you want to go to the bathroom? This way you can do it without getting up from your seat.”
“All these other men here… did they commit any of the atrocities you mentioned? Inappropriately attending nature’s call, inappropriately expectorating, or inappropriately interacting with goats?”
“Not that we know of,” the air marshal said. “But they are all Indian men. Which means that the chances of such behaviour are more than zero.”
“So these are all innocent Indian men? And who knows, some of them might even be feminists?” The air marshal shrugged. “Please fasten your seat belt, sir.”
“This is not a seat belt, it is a manacle,” I said. The air hostess and the air marshal exchanged a look, shook their heads sadly, and left, shutting the trap door behind them. I looked around at the other Indian men, all shackled to their (toilet) seats. They were all so quiet you could have heard a pin drop, or a goat smile.

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