Planes and Palindromes

"Palindromes."

"Palindromes?"

"Yes, Palindromes. You know, words or phrases which are exactly the same backwards as they are forwards."

"Yes, Douglas, I know what a palindrome is." Martin shot Douglas a scathing glare from the pilot's seat. "I just can't think of any off the top of my head." He wriggled in the chair as he faced forward again, trying to hide his embarrassment. It didn't work.

"But, Martin, there's so many to choose from! There's single words like 'level' and 'racecar,' or for the more ambitious palindromists, sentences like 'able was I ere I saw Elba.'" The first officer was interrupted in his speech by the cockpit door slamming open. In barged Arthur, bearing coffee and his usual grin.

"Hello chaps! What's it today? Films missing their first syllables?"

"No," replied Douglas, "better. Palindromes."

"Oh, right. Like 'she sells seashells by the seashore?'"

"What? No!" Martin spun to face Arthur, and while he was turned that way, grabbed one the cups of coffee.

"That's a tongue twister," Douglas corrected, smiling smugly in his eyes, if not with his mouth.

"Oh." Arthur twisted his face into a "thinking" sort of look as he handed the first officer his own coffee.

"Ooh, I've got one! Dog...god." The excitement palpably fell from Martin's voice. "Doggod." Douglas was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Was that it? The least you could have done was 'God! Dog!' or better yet, 'God, a dog!' or even-"

"That's enough, Douglas. You've made your point. I'm not good at palindromes. I'm not good at any of the games you pick, actually. I want to choose the next one."

"Alright then, you can choose the next game... if you can think of one good palindrome."

"What? But I'll never come up with one!"

"Sure you can." The smug smile had spread to his whole face by now.

"So. Pallendreamies." The two pilots had forgotten that Arthur was still in the cockpit. "Like... 'a nut... for a jar... of... tuna." The cabin was silent. Arthur just looked from Martin to Douglas, then from Douglas to Martin. Douglas was the first to speak.

"My god."

"I don't believe this." Martin dropped his head between his hands, resting it gently on the controller. "It's not fair, he can't even say 'palindrome!'"

"Can too! Packinfoam!"

"Nonetheless," Douglas countered, ignoring the steward's petulant assertion, "he is better at coming up with them that you are, Martin."

"Does that mean I get to choose the next game?" Arthur was visibly excited by the prospect.

"Oh, please no. Douglas..."

"Yes, Arthur, it does." Martin groaned.

Arthur whooped, and slammed the door on his way out of the cockpit, only to return a moment later. At least, he tried to return; the wings of his mimed aeroplane got stuck in the galley, and he couldn't reach the door handle.