Is there a pilot on board?

My plane from Paris to Sofia was late. Given we were in the fashion capital of the world, I thought it was only right to be appropriately late. That's fashionable, you know. So, we waited, and waited, and waited. Until we got on board. Where we waited, and waited, and waited some more. As soon as the plane finally took off, about two hours after our scheduled take-off time, massive clouds of what appeared to be smoke started coming through the windows. People panicked. And screamed. And yelled. And whistled. We thought that the plane was on fire. I didn't make a sound. Simply put my hands on my eyes, which is what I usually do when I'm scared. I don't want to see. Actually, that's what I did on an especially sharp turn during my first driving lesson which led my driving instructor to say: Why did you let go of the steering wheel?! Idiot!!! You will never be a driver! I'm sorry to report that I have not driven since. Anyway.

So..,smoke, screaming people. Panick. Finally, the stewardess, without even bothering to show her face, announces on the speaker in a very strict voice:

Everybody please be quiet and get back to your seat.

People, still having no clue what the fuck is going on continue to scream and plead for somebody's attention. Stewardess gets the microphone again and announces:

Everybody please be quiet and get back to your seat. The steam you're seeing is coming from the air-conditioning. Everything is ok.

Oh, I'm thinking, so you've known about this all along?! And couldn't be bothered to tell us before it happened so you could actually save our poor jetlagged souls from a panick-induced nervous break-down? Well, that's ok, I suppose. It got everybody's mind off the shitty food you served us later, fuckers.