Get me out of Houston, God, and I promise to try to never come back. At least where George Bush Intercontinental Airport is concerned. In this picture, I’m actually on an actual plane actually getting ready to take off, after a fascinating debacle where I:
- Was ultra-late from my connecting flight from equally cluster-fucked Baton Rouge.
- Ran — barefoot for better speed — from one gate to the other (about a 1/2 mile)
- Arrived at my gate to SEE my plane SITTING THERE and being told that I was too late.
- Feverishly tried to get a hotel room as they evaporated all over town right before my eyes.
- Finally getting maybe the last hotel room in Houston, on my own dime, and payng out nearly $200 for the privilege.
- Being told by several locals that my experience sounded like a typical day at Bush Intercontinental.
So, lord, I will try in the future to avoid Houston.