There is a long line waiting at the Reno Greyhound for the San Francisco bus. I’m one of the last to enter; many are turned away. The bus is old and smells like..well, an old bus. I find a seat, store my stuff, and greet my seat mate: a personable, older Welsh woman. As we chat, a group of teenage girls enter and move to the back of the bus. Why is it that teenage girls always congregrate to the back of the bus? I believe it’s so they can secretly conspire about their plans to take the World over and make boy bands the leaders of us all.

american.jpegThe bus driver is a cheery woman named Terry. As she pulls from the station, their is an outburst of screams from the back of the bus. “Roach!” “There’s another!” The TG’s are hysterical. Terry says, over the loud speaker, “Oh, great, another roach infested bus.” The ride to SFO is peppered throughout with high-pitched squeals from the TG’s, maybe every 25 miles are so. At one point, a TG screams, “Oh my God, that girl in front of me has a roach in her hair!” I swear, she actually said that, just like in the movie Hairspray. The other riders moan in sympathy; I had to hide my face, I was laughing so hard.

After one particular screamy episode, Terry says, “Oh, quit your screaming. Cockroaches aren’t nothing to be scared of. You want to know what’s scary? One day I’m driving down the highway eating my lunch, and a cockroach popped out of my sandwich. That’s scary.” No, Terry. The thought of you driving a full bus, barrelling across the mountains, eating a sandwich, is scary.

The bus arrives safely. When I unpack, I carefully check my luggage. No roaches.

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