6 p.m. — Things take a turn. Turns out, buying the cheapest Friday afternoon bus tickets from New York to D.C. is not a wise spending choice. We haven't even made it to the Lincoln Tunnel yet when we get into a fender bender. We're waiting on the street for upwards of an hour with no information, so V. and I call the bus company to try to get a refund. They pretend they can't hear us and hang up — a bad omen for Friday the 13th — and the driver shuffles us back on the bus. We think we're finally leaving, until we realize the driver is not on the bus and has locked us in. Nightmares become reality. The emergency exit is locked, too. Some other passengers are freaking out with us, but others still have their headphones on and are pulling out their dinners. It's bizarre. Eventually, V. slams on the horn until the driver comes back and lets us out. We run out and eat the cost of the bus tickets in favor of not being trapped in a moving vehicle for five hours.