Hello Houston

I cannot think of a better way to kick off this blog than with a travel-related post. Don’t worry, as this blog takes shape it will have more of a focus. Until then, things are going to be a bit random.

So, Shelly and I have done our fair share of traveling: England – twice, France – once, Thailand – once (so far), Mexico – once, and so on. Needless to say we have exited and entered the US of A on a number of occasions.

Imagine our surprise when we discovered on the way back from Mexico that entering the U.S. through Customs in Houston, Texas turned out to be the worst customs experience ever.

We were literally rushing from all points of our Houston “layover” because our plane from Cancun was late and our plane to SF was already boarding. (It sure didn’t help when our airline agent told us to rush when we grabbed our bags.)

We moved through the long line of people, Shelly clutching our filled out form – one form per person or one form per family. Our friends get called to the station next to us and quickly make it through. We get to our station and the agent refuses us as a couple and our filled-out form by stating that we are not a family, not brothers or sisters or what have you. No amount of arguing would suffice for this puffed up wannabe CHiPs agent with the first name of Van. He ordered me back behind the yellow line to fill out my form, as he lets Shelly and others go through, and then had the audacity to scrutinize my form with twisted glee. To say he was an asshole is an understatement.

Did I mention that the Houston airport is called Bush International?

Welcome home.

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