I was cold, tired and annoyed. No, this isn’t another story about a trip to buy panties…. I was cold, tired and annoyed. No, this isn’t another story about a trip to buy panties. But this is about getting my panties in a bunch.

I went home this weekend and decided that I will try to limit these trips to every three months or so. I hate taking the bus just about as much as I hate the movie “Home Fries.” And that’s a rather bold statement. Trust me; save a few bucks and don’t rent it.

“Why were you bitter?” you might ask. Have you ever taken the bus at 2 a.m.? If you haven’t, I suggest you try it sometime. Just as I suggest you be a server for a year. I learned an awful lot about myself by witnessing the actions of other people. I learned that I have no patience.

My painful yet happily ended experience started off first with the guy who could not take a hint. After he gave me a “Hey, what up?” when I first entered the station, I thought perhaps he was being friendly. However, when I’m reading my magazine with my headphones on, it should be obvious that what I’m trying to convey is that I don’t want to be bothered. Simply stated: Stop talking to me. This gentleman proceeded to talk to me for the half hour that I continued flipping the pages of my InStyle magazine. I give him credit for trying, though. Sorry Romeo, but when your pick-up line has the words “probation officer” involved, I’m not interested.

Then there was the man who decided to get his R.E.M. sleep in the middle of the station’s floor. Perhaps he had a rough night, but there is a time and a place. If I can hear your snoring over my Sarah McLachlan CD, then I think you need to find either a Starbucks or a bed. I’ll even be so nice as to pay for your hotel.

As for singing, I have no problem with it. I do it myself, and quite often. However, I usually do so in the shower or in the privacy of my own car. If you want to sing a cappella with your friends, though, go to a recording studio and contact Tommy Mottola. I’m sure he’d love to hear you and the rest of your cow-chomping bubblegum friends. But sorry, I don’t.

If possible, though, the bus ride was even more eventful. A snowstorm, a layover, a transmission failure, hitting a guardrail, getting hit on by the bus driver — “What is your dad going to say when he has a visitor for dinner?” — were all a part of the six-hour bus ride that should have taken only four hours.

But then it happened. Sometimes when you least expect it, you meet a person who can teach you about life. This person came to me in the form of a 73-year-old woman who sat next to me and experienced my same perturbations.

She taught me not to worry about the little things in life as she munched on her Milky Way and laughed about her memories from over the years with me and the rest of our bus neighbors. And suddenly, I was no longer tired.

I began recounting the night and wished I had put my magazine down to talk to the guy who couldn’t take a hint. Perhaps I should have offered my voice to the girls earlier.

And I realized that what was once the most miserable night became one for the scrapbooks. Sometimes the people who go unnoticed are the ones who can teach you the most about why life’s worth living.