Incidentally, after I poured myself from the flight in Copenhagen, I discovered my next flight was delayed. The bars were closed (it was still morning), so I spent the next few hours drinking warm vodka with some Lithuanian deckhands flying back from S. Africa. By the time I got to my final destination, I had been up for more than 28 hours and was a complete mess. What a great trip it was.
I don't remember the terminal, as I was too busy trying to make my connection, and 9 years later that is still the worst experience I've ever had in an airport, and I've done a few rounds in DFW. But you're right, asking a cop to shoot me would have been a lot less painful. ;^)