Go Sooners? Part III: It gets worse

[Fade in on a car racing down a lonesome highway. Slight wisps of fog swirl behind as the car speeds towards the horizon]

When last we left our hero, he was in a desperate race against time to Oklahoma City to defuse a bomb set by Cobra Command and bring down the criminal organization known only as, "The Hive."

Or something.

Oh, that's right. I was headed to a job interview. THE job interview.

I finally drove out of the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport and Septic Pumping at 12:15, struggling with the GPS (extra $12.95/day) to direct me towards the exit, and then onward to OKC. Instead, it tells me that I REALLY wanted to drive past departures a couple of times first. I was too tired to argue.

The GPS tells me that my estimated arrival time is 3:45am. Typically the estimated time is fairly accurate, as I drive like a grandpa, pretty much always at the speed limit, or if I'm in a hurry (like now) a few miles over.

I'm a rebel.

That would give me a chance to check in to the hotel, freshen up a little, and drive back to the airport to pick up my checked bag (which I want to remind you has apparently arrived into OKC at least an hour prior) when the baggage claim office opens at 5am. Then back to the hotel, take a shower, get my research together and head to the interview by 7:45.

The drive was long yet uneventful. But by this point I was indeed getting a little punchy. I crossed the state line and saw the first casinos and drove into road construction hell. It seemed that every five miles I was in a lane that was ending due to road work. Luckily for me it was in the wee hours of the morning and I was the only person on the road for a 80-mile radius. To break the boredom, I started timing between other cars I saw. The winner was 46 minutes.

I only stopped once for a snickers and Monster Java. It was one of those chain truck stops that sell anything provided it's deep fried, including the spare auto parts. SIDE THOUGHT: Why do all those stores carry kitschy glass/pewter/etc sculptures of dolphins, unicorns and such? Is there a big market among truckers for glass kitties? Next time you stop by one, check em out. It's the kind of knick-knacks you'd expect to find in a house owned by a chain-smoking lady with an oxygen tank and a more-than-reasonable number of cats.

The GPS was right. I pulled into the hotel parking lot at 3:42. Not really the parking lot. Because of the damage to the hotel caused by the recent hailstorms, one of the two parking lots was closed, the overflow cars parked along the street for a block. I lucked out and found a spot in the back, grabbed by bags and walked all the way around the building to check in (the back door was key-access only).

I checked in, used the facilities, splashed water on my face, and sat on the bed to catch up with my thoughts. Those bastards at the company put me in a suite with a pillowtop king, complete with down comforter and feather pillows.

And I don't have time to take a nap.

I almost cried.

Before I started bawling I changed clothes (which I've been wearing for almost 24h. Those of you that know me are aware that I'm kinda twitching about this by now) and headed out to Will Rogers "That's the best we could come up with" International Airport. I was there at the baggage claim office at 4:55. At 5:10 I finally noticed the sign that says "If you need assistance before 11am, please go to the ticket counter." Screw the line waiting for tickets, I went through the Preferred Access/First Class/Heads of State line, and made the first agent leave his post to open the claim office.

It's redundant, but I want to quote from Part 2:
"B: "Wait. Where's my checked bag?"
S: (taptaptapPOUND) "In Oklahoma City. NEXT!"
B: "Back up there cowboy. Say wha?"
S: (taptapPOUNDtapPOUND) "I show your bag arrived in OKC at 9:23. NEXT!""

Walking into the Isle of Misfit Bags, I noticed a decidingly absence of anything closely resembling my hanging bag among the motley pile of discarded luggage.

Mr. Luggage: (Filling out some form in triplicate) "How many bags do you have here?"
Tenacious B: "Ummm... zero"
L: "Did you count them?"
B: "Twice. Look, it's been a long night, so I'll try to stay calm for the moment. Where. Is. My. Bag?" I said through clenched teeth (Try it. It's harder than it seems). "Well..." I gave him the short version of the incident, plus the conversation with Mr. Surly.
L: "It's not the first time they've lied. But I can tell you for certain that the only time your bag was scanned in was when you checked it in Austin at 3:30pm yesterday afternoon. So as far as I know it's still in Austin."

I was really trying to keep it together. In other words, if it wasn't for the fact that I had an interview in two hours, there would've been an incident involving Tenacious B, several DHS officers, a tazer and more than likely felony assault charges.

But I had to solve another issue. I was wearing jeans and my "I appreciate the muppets on a much deeper level than you" t-shirt. Not exactly interview material. At least I was wearing my good DocMartens. Normally when I fly I wear flipflops to get through security faster.

I searched on my phone to locate any store that might be open that would carry clothes, and yet be open before 7am. I found a 24h Super Wal-mart near the hotel and picked out a pair of slacks and shirt that seemed relatively presentable.

After I shower, I realize the awesome quality of the recently purchased $40 outfit. The slacks fit ok, but the material was thin. As in I'm glad I had drawers in my carryon. The shirt on the other hand fit rather nicely... for a T-rex. I'm not certain what the target demographic for shirts are in Vietnam (where the shirt was made), but the shirt fit me perfectly except the sleeves barely passed my elbows. Oh well, too late to go back. Rolling up the sleeves is my only option to not look Neanderthal-ish.

7:15. Headed to the interview.

Let's recap. I was in various airports for 9 hours to travel 200 miles, then had to drive an additional 200 miles to OKC, upon finding that instead of going to the most important interview of my life in my $500 Kenneth Cole suit, I'm going in a $40 poorly fitting outfit from Wally World. With no sleep.

Did I miss anything?