I don’t know that Megan Koester’s train ride was any more hellish than mine, but she tells her story better.

I am a moron, which is why I recently spent 22 tedious hours traveling between Chicago and New York via Amtrak. Let me paint you, dear reader, a portrait of my mistake. […] The romanticism of the rails is dead. There is no beauty, no ceremony, in it. White, brown, and beige plastic covered every surface. Water sloshed in the sink of the filthy bathroom. The cutlery was plastic, the plates holding flavorless, overpriced turkey sandwiches made of paper. Artless photos of hot dogs and Pepsi products hung askew in the snack car.