So yeah, I did in fact get out of Dallas.
Woke up somewhere around 7, and sat around watching Looking for Comedy in the Muslim World for awhile. Eventually realized that I would need to get moving and pack. Got up around 8:30, took a shower, headed downstairs to smoke a cigarette....and promptly started to feel light-headed and mildly faint-y. Huh. Not so good.
Smoked my cig and grabbed some breakfast at the hotel restaurant. Went upstairs and got everything packed. Laid down for a bit so the queasiness could pass. Wandered downstairs around 11:30 to check out. Went out for another smoke to find...
Well, that's just weird.
No, it wasn't the citizens of the great state of Texas letting me know that they're happy that I'm leaving. Turns out, Friday was the first day of the Texas State Fair. And for some reason, the big kick-off parade was queuing up right outside of my hotel.
Watched that for a while. Met up with my co-workers. We wondered what kind of effect the parade was going to have on the cab that was supposed to meet us at 12:30. Amazingly enough, the cabbie actually planned on being early, so was, in fact, only two minutes late, what with all of the traffic.
Got to the airport. Barely beat the crowd of people checking in for American Airlines. Stood in line for security for 11 minutes (I know this because the girl standing behind me was handed a piece of paper by someone from TSA, which is apparently part of their "let's measure how long it takes these poor fools to get through line" initiative.) Waited around for the plane to board.
Still hate taking off.
Get in to National, say goodbye to my co-workers, and then head off to find baggage carousel number five. Find said carousel, only to discover that my bag is not on it. Yay.
Wait in line to complain with everyone else that the airline has lost my luggage. Just as I move up the first person in line, I see a baggage handler moving bags from one pile to another. And, miracle of miracles, see that my bag is one of those being moved.
Thanked the man for doing such an effective job of hiding my bag.
Taxi. Home. Hurrah.
Total Bum Count: 11 (obviously, yes, it could have been much worse)