You’re probably wondering how I found myself crying on a cockroach infested bus on the side of the highway at 4 A.M. on a Saturday morning somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania. Long story short, I have made mistakes in my life, and am perfectly willing to admit it.

This all came about because my roommate Sheridan and I had decided that it would be a fantastic idea to take a greyhound bus from where our college is in Kentucky halfway across the country to where my family lives in Connecticut. It was Spring Break of our junior year, and we wanted to test ourselves and see how well we could handle whatever nature and public bus terminals could throw at us. The trip to Connecticut was fine, despite the fact that I was travelling with a pretty bad kidney infection and was doped up on all sorts of medications to help with pain and nausea, and despite the fact that we had to stay up all night in the Cleveland bus terminal, surviving on hot chocolate and an entire two seasons of "Parks and Rec" on Netflix. It was a good bonding experience. We made it to Connecticut in 26 hours. My mom picked us up from the bus stop, and we spent the week taking in the rather damp and gray sights of a New England March. We took one day to go into New York City, which was a first for Sheridan. All too soon, the week came to an end and it was time to get back on a bus and head back to school.

This is about the point we realized we might have made a mistake. The first indication was the absolute hot mess that is the New York City bus station. We took a bus from my hometown into the city, and from there we were supposed to switch to another, which we would be on for the whole night until we reached the far side of Pennsylvania. The problem was that the bus station, which happens to be in the lowest, dirtiest, and overall sketchiest sections of Grand Central, is, as mentioned above, a hot freaking mess. Here is a rough diagram of this station’s setup:

Even the circles of "Dante’s Inferno" are better organized that this station. This should have been our sign to leave, right then and there, and find a plane or even a particularly willing Uber driver. But no, once we finally found our next bus, we boarded slightly disgruntled but believing that the worst was behind us. We were late to find the right line, on account of the unforgiving labyrinth that is the New York bus station, and the only seats available were all the way in the back next to a young man who looked very uncomfortable to be sharing leg room with two sleepy, grumpy, and PMSing girls.

The thing about March in the Northeast is that it is still very much winter, and the temperatures will still drop down to the freezing point after dark. That being said, we were superbly disappointed to discover that this bus did not have heat. I was okay with this at first, because Greyhound buses have power strips, and I had brought my heating pad to help with the pain from the kidneys. This is when we realized that the power strips were also broken. We decided that, though this was absolutely a nightmare, at least we would have WiFi to finish another couple episodes of "Parks and Rec". Disaster number 3: this bus had no WiFi either. So, spirits sufficiently crushed, we agreed that it would probably be a good idea to try and sleep some.

I set my backpack on the ground, propped my feet up, and used my knees as a pillow. I had been lying in this incredibly uncomfortable position for about half an hour when my seatmate starting nudging my shoulder. I looked up, and he wordlessly pointed to the ground at my feet. It took a lot more effort and self-control than I thought I was capable of possessing to not start cussing and shouting right then and there, because the ground was crawling with cockroaches. At least four or five were skittering and scuttling around my bag on the ground.

I woke Sheridan up at this point to try and explain the bug situation and that I might have to actually set the entire bus on fire, but she promptly informed me that there was no way that this was actually happening and that she was going back to sleep. This was all communicated in one very loud and very angry, “NO.” Later on, we acknowledged that this was most likely denial.

Around 3 A.M. we came to a stop somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania. There was a small truck stop with a 24-hour diner. The bus driver informed us that our bus sucked (a fact that most of us had somehow gathered using our own deductive reasoning) and that we were going to try to get a different one. My spirits were sufficiently lifted, and we waited around for about 45 minutes until we were told that there were no other buses available and we would just have to suck it up until we got to our next stop. This is the point when I may or may not have had a meltdown. It was quiet and self-contained but definitely fueled by self-pity and rage.

At 7 a.m. we reached the next station and had about an hour until we would board another bus. There was a bagel and coffee shop right next to our gate, so we settled in with coffee and breakfast, and immediately the stress of the night before melted away. The rest of the trip was more or less uneventful, and we got back to campus that evening around 8 p.m. In hindsight, it was not the worst possible experience, and I am very grateful that we made it there and back again without any serious accident, illness, or injury. But I will never ride a bus again.