April 23, 2025 By Lydia M. Vance

I still think about this one night in 2019 like it was some bizarre fever dream someone dared me to have. I was either 23 or 24, deep into my “try everything at least once” phase, and on this particular night, that “everything” was a tab of acid.

I took it with my friend—we’ll call him Dave—because Dave was that guy who always had something. He said we should head into town and just “vibe.” The word “vibe” has never scared me more in hindsight.

So we’re at the bus stop, just waiting like everything’s chill. That familiar pre-trip feeling starts to bloom in my chest—this buzzy, electric flutter. Nothing too wild yet. Then the bus pulls up.

And then BAM. Just like that, we both get slapped across the soul by the acid gods.

I step onto the bus and immediately realize I have no concept of reality. Not in a metaphorical way—I literally couldn’t remember what money was, how numbers worked, or why I was there. But somehow, I’m holding a fistful of quarters. Panic sets in. I’m trying to count, but the coins are moving. Not physically, but like… breathing. Pulsing in my hand like they were alive and judging me.

So what do I do? I start giving the bus driver handful after handful of quarters. I must’ve dropped like five bucks in his little coin box. The poor man didn’t say a word. Just stared at me, maybe trying to decide if I was high or just an especially eccentric coin collector.

We sit down and the world shifts into a Salvador Dalí painting. The seats stretch. The people around me look like cardboard cutouts. A man three rows up starts humming, and I’m convinced he’s communicating with me telepathically. I respond by trying very hard to look normal. You know, eyes forward, hands folded, completely unaware that I’m gripping the seat like I’m on a rocket to Saturn.

The next twenty minutes are a blur of neon signs melting and a sense of absolute spiritual confusion. I remember turning to Dave and whispering, “We’re on the god bus now,” and him just nodding like I’d said something profound. Maybe I had.

Eventually, we got off in some random part of town we didn’t even mean to go to. The rest of the night? A whole other story. But that bus ride? That was peak uncomfortable, peak hilarious, and probably peak terrifying all in one go.

If there’s a lesson here, it’s this: don’t ride public transit when you’ve got one foot in another dimension.

Also, maybe keep your quarters at home.