I can just tell that all of you have been anxiously waiting in suspense, perched on the edge of your seats, after the way I ended that last post. I can imagine that it got to the point of affecting your daily lives, but have no fear, because part two of my trip is about to be revealed to you. I can sense the excitement from here. Okay, maybe I am being a bit dramatic, but it wouldn't be as fun otherwise if I didn't occasionally mess with my readers. To be honest, I have told most of my Houston tale at this point, but there is a bit more entertainment coming your way.
If I remember correctly, the last place I left off was at the end of the interview. Now, when I was asked to fly out for an interview, it was requested that I choose a return flight after 5 PM, as the interview process was designed to last until then. Therefore, deciding to play it safe, I skipped the 6 PM flight as I figured that would be cutting it close and I went with the 8:51 flight. First of all, why is there a flight that is scheduled to leave at 8:51? Why not just 8:50? Or, why not just play it safe at make it 9? That scheduling does not seem to follow any logic to me. Maybe I am just crazy. Well, of course, life decided to mess with me again and make it so the interviews were done at 2, and so I was at the airport by 3. If any of you have ever had the experience of waiting at the airport for over 5 hours, we should have a nice long complaining session about it over a glass of Merlot (or iced tea or soda for my underage readers, if I have any).
I decided I should try to read or get some work done on the computer, but upon realizing that the Houston airport mercilessly teases travelers with only 45 minutes of free internet before having to pay some ridiculous amount, I went on over to an airport bar/restaurant. I was excited to be there; the ambiance was wonderful and the descriptions of food and drinks made my taste buds want to do a cartwheel. So, I sat down, introduced myself to bartender Craig, got out my Oscar Wilde, and ordered a drink. The food descriptions were unbelievably deceiving. The owners of that place certainly found a great writer to do the menu item captions, and I was rather disappointed. I ordered the "spicy tomato soup with homemade sharp cheddar croutons" and a side of garlic spinach. The soup was not spicy in any way, and clearly came out of a can, and the alleged croutons were simply bread slices with melted cheese on them. To make matters worse, they were out of the spinach, so they kindly asked if they could bring me something else instead. Having given up dessert for Lent, I went with the seasonal fruit and cheese plate, assuming that I would not be presented with the Mount Everest of cheese that would cause half the bar to bust a gut laughing. Essentially, I had to cart around about 5 pounds of gourmet cheese in a box while I waited for the flight, on the flight, in the DIA train, on the airport shuttle, and in my car. I am so sick of that cheese. Here is a nice visual for you:
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