I’ve been to Dallas twice before in my life, or rather, I’ve been to DFW Airport twice. The first time, in 2001, with my friend Nick on our way to Colorado. We saw the bassist and guitarist from Pantera, failed to talk to them.
The second time, returning from a work trip to Costa Rica. A TSA official showed us the way to McDonald’s, which was very polite of him.
This time I was flying for business in Dallas, but due to a sensible corporate travel policy, I flew economy. I don’t think it was policy to get me a seat in the very last row, right by the toilets, but who knows? I flew American, which wasn’t very enjoyable – there’s not even a screen on the back of the seat to ignore – and we had a rough landing where the plane seemed to bounce twice and then continued to bounce as we taxied. It was like having a drunk jump on a waterbed.
It then took an unfeasible amount of time to deplane. From landing to disembarking was about 40 minutes, and then the terminal was huge, and although I could skip the baggage reclaim as I only had my backpack, it took 15 minutes for my Uber to arrive. In Singapore, I could have been home by that point.
But I’m not in Singapore. What of it?
I got to the hotel (which charges for WiFi, despite the high cost of the rooms) and worked for a few hours, then played a game of Blood Bowl, ate some crisps, lamented my diet, wished I’d remembered to bring juggling balls to practise with, and then realised I should go to bed.
And it’s raining and a bit cold in Texas. That’s not right, is it?