Hawai’i Day 18

Day 18 – Arrive in Dallas at 7 in the morning. Turns
out that most of the people working in this airport
are very rude.  This has not been fun since I left
the hotel last night.  I wonder if maybe the people
here are just loud – but the thought vanishes when
I’m approached by a man in a green jacket who
works as an ‘Airport Service Agent’.  Keep in mind
that there are ads around the airport stating that
these people are here to help you.  Anywho,
according to the ‘can’t miss it button’ he is sporting
on the wide lapel of said green jacket, his name is
BOB.  No, not Bob – but BOB.  Even their name tags
are loud.  So BOB approaches and asks to see my
paper work to speed up the customs process.  I
comply.  He then asks where my visa is, to which I
reply that ‘I didn’t know I needed one!’.  He then
spits out something to the effect of ‘Well, have you
filled out form T22 dash 705′ or whatever the hell it
was called.  ‘What is a T22 dash 705?’.  His friendly
response was a condescending ‘Do you even know
how to read english?’, to which he then abruptly
slammed some form into my hand and walked
away!  Wild.  If I wasn’t feeling like a bag of crap, it
probably would have been very humourous at the
time.  When I get to the customs agent, I show him
all my forms, including the completed T22 dash 705
form that I’m sure was not required.  He looks at it,
sees that I am in fact from ‘Canadia’ as he calls it,
and proceeds to tear up my diligently completed
T22 dash 705.  All I can say is ‘Thanks BOB – maybe
you should learn to read english and note that my
passport – which you checked over – clearly stated
that I was from CANADA and thus not required to
fill out your stupid T22 dash 705 form’.  Not that I’m
bitter.  Following customs and further security
checks (with an even-louder-than-BOB security
agent whose name I’ve thankfully forgotten), I
wander around the Dallas Fort Worth airport.  It’s
massive and ultra modern.  Lots of stores and such.
 Televisions with CNN everywhere the eye can see. 
It seems to me that CNN everywhere is some sort of
weird security blanket for them.  I get some food
(from a woman who barks instead of speaks).  My
encounter with the barking bagel lady reminds me
of the saying that ‘everything is bigger in texas’.  It
seems that this holds true for communication too. 
Sadly, what I think they have failed to realize is that
bigger does not imply beter.  I think Southern
Hospitality is DEAD!  Anywho, I eat then lay around
until it’s time to board for Maui!  Sweet – get me out
of this place (I don’t think I will ever return).  The
plane ride to Maui is boring for the most part.  I
play Sudoku puzzles that Steph has nicely bound
for me.  I nap very little.  Eat some food, have
some drinks, and all and all feel relatively like a bag
of crap.  The octopus from the night before really
isn’t sitting well. 
After landing, I run into Deb, meet up with Arls,
Millie, Gene, and everyone else.  Wendy, Sham,
Keith and I go and pick up the convertible that
Wendy has rented for the week.  Sweet.  We make
our way to the villas, get checked in, explore our
condo – very sweet – and then decide to go and get
groceries.  We eat, chat and then head to bed.
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