The tale of Egypt Air is the only place I can start dropping any of these bombs. For folks who haven't been around the various forums forever, my original handle 20 years ago was 'surreality vortex', rather than just 'surreality'. That was my term for 'weirdness magnet does not even fucking cover it OK?!'
So! My mother apparently had a tradition in her family that, between 8th grade and the start of high school, over the summer, a grand vacation would be had. We argued about what it would be that entire 8th grade year. She wanted to see the Holy Land and Egypt, preferably on a cruise. Welp, that was the year a cruise liner got taken hostage and it was probably the only reason my preteen anime-geek ass won the argument: I WANT TO GO TO JAPAN, MOM.(1)
Not gonna lie, this trip was epic. It went all around Japan for 7 days, then on to Bangkok, Singapore, and Hong Kong for a few days in each. There are wacky WTF tales from every single leg of the journey, but none of them -- NONE -- could possibly compare to the story of our transit from Tokyo to Bangkok.
This was the mid-80s, so there was no 'news in English' available in every hotel. We had to just guess at news from pictures and diagrams in Japanese. Three stories dominated the news every night we were there: the Bakers (Jim and Tammy Faye) wailing about their air-conditioned doghouse and disgraces, a coup that might or might not be going down in Manila (this will come up later, y'all), and a doomed flight from Japan to Hawaii on Japan Airlines.
The 80s were the early days of 'cute stupid graphics to illustrate the news in simple form'. They were actually pretty good in Japan, as one might expect! It's that last story that could have benefitted from a... less detail-oriented team of animators, though. Y'see, while we don't know specifics of what happened, we could absolutely glean the bullet points from that animation they kept showing over and over and over and over.
Picture if you will, a little chibi plane flying merrily over the ocean, sun sparkling in the background, waves rippling below. There is a comic-book explosion effect on one side of the happy little plane, and one wing breaks off and goes down, down, down with little motion lines until it hits the water. Small bubble-like rafts begin to emerge from sad little chibi plane, after which sharks rise from the water with their mouths open before it cuts back to a newslady who looks very serious and somber for a moment before perking up like someone blasted literal sunshine up her ass from under the newsdesk.
<insert horrified face gif of your choice here>
Never had I prayed like I prayed we would not be on any Japan Airlines flights for the rest of that trip. If this trip taught me anything, it is that there is a god, and it's definitely Loki.
We naturally discover that our flight is going to be on Japan Airlines. 12 year old me is trying to not panic, because I don't want to be eaten by sharks. Is that really too much to ask for out of a vacation? To not get eaten by sharks? (Oh, god, please, I will be your BFF FOREVER if you get us on a different plane!)
Our tour guide for Japan pauses. He looks distressed. Many things distressed this man, to whom being 15 minutes early was being five minutes late for his liking, but this was a special sort of distressed. He explained to us all very calmly that our plane had been grounded for extended inspection -- presumably to check to ensure the wings weren't going to fall off of it -- and that the tour company was seeking an alternate flight with enough available seats for our tour group.
(OMG YOU LISTENED I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! I ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE REAL!)
We get shuffled around the airport for over an hour, and go through the most detailed security three times. Every item in our carryons was individually inspected, and we were physically frisked each time after going through the metal detectors. (Did the DDD cup 12 year old get the weirdest looks ever getting frisked? YOU BET. One lady just had this look on her face like... '...but how.... ' as she stared at me with her head tilted like a confused puppy for a solid half minute as she went 'honk honk' on my boobs, convinced I had to be smuggling food or SOMETHING in there.)
All the while this is going on, we are told we have a flight, but nothing about that flight until we're on the actual plane -- just that they're going to make a refueling stop in Bangkok to drop us off. Have y'all ever seen The Golden Child? Remember the plane in Nepal, with the goats? Just remove the goats, and you've got it nailed. We only learn the name of the airline when we see it embroidered on the seatcovers. Everyone is split up, and sent to their seats, scattered all over the plane. I'm planted next to a woman who resembles rumpled leather, who is already asleep. She sleeps through 'what to do if we crash and what your seat belt is for' in 22 languages -- they played it twice, 11 languages each time, a process that took well over half an hour.
We are already in the air when the pilot comes on to tell us where we're going and what we're doing. (Again, this is repeated in several languages... not 22, but it was up there.) This is Egypt Air! We're flying from Tokyo to Cairo, with a stop in Manila.
Wait. What? I immediately see two problems here. First, we're directly en route to the airport that we've been watching stalked by men with guns in paramilitary uniforms all week on the news. Further, and perhaps more pressingly, there is no mention of Bangkok.
...at least we finally understood all the extra security?
Right about the time we're served sliced tongue sandwiches -- yes, really -- the woman beside me wakes up. While boozing it up, we start to chat. She's a lovely person! We bond immediately over talking about the Great Barrier Reef; she dives there often and I've always wanted to see it. (Still do!) I mention the sharks on the news.
"Oh, that's nothin'!" <pulls up pantleg, giant chunk missing from leg, teethmark scars>
<insert your favorite internally screaming gif here>
At this point I am relatively convinced I have developed telepathy, because my mother was able to sense my frantic stare from a few seats over and a row up, and she came to rescue me and swap seats. This plants my woefully awkward preteen ass between what must have been the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in person, and a French male model, who know each other and are chatting merrily and including me which is super awesome of them and makes them amazing people but holy jeebus, I must have been a truly 80s-appropriate shade of magenta the entire time.
They depart in Manila when we land. We are searched again. The entire plane is searched by men walking up and down the aisles with automatic rifles. Everyone still on the plane is trying very hard to not make eye contact with anything but their shoes.
<insert your favorite internally screaming gif here AGAIN>
Once they leave, my mother shoos me up toward the front of the plane to sit with 'the Italian ladies' that are on our tour, as she insists I escape the smoking section. (Yes, younguns, planes had those back then!)
Sitting between these women -- still entirely unsure if we were simply now en route direct to Cairo -- was like being immersed in an episode of The Golden Girls in real life.(2) Many a sentence actually began with 'Back in the old country... ' It was clearly not enough that I grew up with my own Italian grandmother every day of my life up to that point, she was not there and they clearly felt the vacuum. They had four hours to instill me with all of their old world wisdom and they were not going to shirk this sacred responsibility. There were recipes. Gardening tips. How to know if he's really a nice boy. How to tell if the olive oil has gone off.
I could mostly deal with this, even if it was a bit frenetic, until they got to the part about exercise.
"It is important!" the big, brawny one insisted, and she went on to detail how she had, as the girl among all the brothers, done all the same drills as her siblings since her father was some sort of military muckity-muck under Mussolini. It is at this point I begin dying inside with internal wincing, because she is half-deaf and thus quite loud.
"Is most important, so you boom-boom no droop!"
(Is she talking about... )
With great big Italian Granny arm gestures in the tiny-ass cramped plane, she hefts her boobs and lets them fall.
The entire plane is now staring at us.(3)
With even greater big Italian Granny arm gestures, she begins to demonstrate all of these exercises, and demands I follow suit so she can check my form.
(...can we maybe just have the sharks please oh please anything to make this end?)
Finally, satisfied, she settles back into her seat, nodding proudly. I have a thousand yard stare and my face feels like it's literally on fire, but... it's over!
"Oh," says the tiny Italian lady, "you should meet Bobby, he a nice boy!"
(Fine, fine, I'll meet your grandson, lady, whatever, just don't tell him any of THIS happened- )
She turns around, and tugs her seat forward a little. Sitting behind us is the most attractive man I've seen to this day, yes, prettier than the French male model by far, if he had kids with the woman I was seated beside earlier, I am convinced they'd take over the world with the force of combined gorgeousness and radiant charm. "Bobby, this is Dee! She is on our tour! Meet Bobby, Dee! Meet Dee, Bobby! You both so nice!"
They weren't totally wrong. I had a real connection with Bobby. Possibly the most real, honest and true connection I'd ever had with a man in my life until that moment, or since.
'HELP! Save me!' was written in precisely the same way across both of our faces.
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This was the beginning of my familial role as 'patron saint of vacation planning'. No, really. My luck in life is hot garbage in nearly every possible way except when it comes to 'pick a vacation/place to stay on vacation/vacation ideas/choice of vacation restaurant' and soforth. Dear Loki: I know you're listening, but couldn't you help with the cash to pay for the kickass wacky vacations, too? 
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These two bickered like only lifelong friends could manage. They did not actually meet until the trip started. If this doesn't help you understand Italians better? Think about it a bit; it will.
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OK, probably not the entire plane, but it sure as fuck felt like it.
I think I only got a baffled reprieve from the sea gods because my husband and I saved a mantis shrimp once... which we didn't realize was a mantis shrimp, and probably also could have murderized us. (It wasn't one of the pretty rainbow ones, and we didn't know there were other kinds until after that.)