8:22am and I'm STILL in Houston. After spending a night in a seedy Ramada Inn near the airport, I will be flying to Chihuahua at 9:30am this morning. Allegedly.
Last night, our flight was cancelled shortly after 11pm. By the time we got done running Continental's "customer service" gauntlet, were able to wrangle hotel stays out of them (barely-more on this later), and were actually in our rooms it was after 1am. I'm wearing the same clothes that I spent 22 hours in yesterday and other than a shower, my personal hygiene routine missed several critical steps today (brushing my teeth, applying deodorant, etc.). Why? 'Cause we couldn't get our bags back last night. I'm just lucky that I stuck an extra pair of boxers in my carry-on backpack.
We don't like to engage in the use of gratuitous profanity here as we strive to maintain our family friendly image, but the only words that even begin to describe what occurred yesterday is A FUCKING NIGHTMARE. A FM of biblical proportions.
More later as time and sanity allows.
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