I’ve developed a thing about Houston International Airport. I hate it. I have never had a positive traveling experience there over the last 10 years. Every time I fly through Houston there is a delay just like many other airports. But no airport I have flown through has been as consistently late for me as Houston and for me this pattern when I was 11 years old and traveled to Florida with my family.
My parents took me and my sister to Florida to visit our great-grandparents for their 60th anniversary party. The trip there went smoothly. We flew with my mom’s brother and his wife, got in on time and spent a relaxing weekend with family celebrating this special occasion. Sunday morning we got up extremely early for a morning flight, shoved all our bulky luggage into a crowded taxi and lugged it through the airport. The first leg of our trip was starting off well enough. The flight from Ft. Lauderdale left on time and almost before we knew it, we were closing in on Houston. This is when it all starting heading downhill. Instead of announcing our final descent into Houston, the pilot notified the passengers that Houston airport had been shut down due to threats from hurricanes. We were to circle to wait and see if the airport was going to open again. And so we circled. And circled. Finally after three hours the pilot announced we were going to land at a nearby small airport in Corpus Christi to refuel. When we landed because there was no chance of being able to land in Houston anytime soon, they allowed us to get off the plane and walk around the airport, but the catch was we have to stay within earshot of the gate in case we got the ok to land at Houston.
Finally, our moment came and we finally arrived in Houston. But of course because our flight was 6 hours late we had missed our flight and almost all the departing flights had been cancelled. It took eleven hours to find another flight back to California which meant my family was awake all night sitting in the airport while we tried to figure out when we could get home. And the icing on the cake was once we got back to California, the airport we had flown from was over an hour away from home.