This past Thanksgiving, I visited my brother in CT, and used a "service area" on the NY border that was pretty bare bones but satisfactory for my simple needs. Still, it evoked unpleasant memories of not too long ago, when I traveled monthly down the NJ Turnpike to visit my elderly father in MD, where he lived with my sister during his declining years.
I loathed the trips, in part because it was painful to witness my father's alarming mental and physical decline, but also because there was nothing about the countryside I was venturing into that appealed to me. Given my northern sensibilities, it was "alien country." The landscape of Delaware was flat, bleak, depressing. The part of MD where my sister lives, well south of the Mason Dixon line, could have been Alabama or Mississippi as far as I was concerned (just this past visit, I passed...in the space of a few miles...a Trump billboard-- "Promises Made, Promises Kept"; easily a dozen makeshift churches; and easily just as many "Dollar General" stores, and Christian thrift shops. I don't mean to malign southern people, or those below the Mason-Dixon line, but...given the history...it's tough to overcome my northern sensibilities. At least I didn't witness any "strange fruit" hanging from the poplar trees!).
Anyway...
My father passed away well over a year ago, and it's been that long since I made the trip. My sister graciously invited me down, and I took her up on the offer, with some trepidation.
In the past, I would stop at the Walt Whitman Service Area, which is a few miles north of this one. This time, I chose Clara Barton, so I could gas up and proceed out of NJ with a full tank (I'm not necessarily intimidated by "self-serve" pumps, but...being from NJ...I'm out of practice). Thankfully, it wasn't particularly crowded. I was able to get a parking spot close to the main building. As I entered, there was a poster with a photo of Clara Barton on the wall, which I thought was kinda nice.
Without going into too many personal details, my reason for stopping in these places is to...how can I phrase it delicately?..."pay the water bill" and maybe grab something to eat.
I wasn't paying close attention (I had decided to eat breakfast before I left home rather than pay a king's ransom for a warmed-over burger and fries) but it looked like a darkened Cinnabon and some other food/coffee establishment were closed. A gift shop was open. I entered the men's room, and found it surprisingly clean. Obviously, a large part of that was because there wasn't much of a crowd, but...still...it looked like at least perfunctory attention had been paid to cleanliness. As I attended to the problem at hand (or is "in hand" a better way of putting it? Sorry...TMI...), I couldn't help but notice the clean walls, clean floors, clean toilets. However, this positive impression was marred when I tried to wash and dry my hands. Sinks worked fine, but there were easily a half dozen devices mounted on the wall to take care of the hand drying, and none of them worked-- not the hot air blowers, not the paper towel dispensers. I tried each one, looking for all the world like a befuddled, benighted Forrest Gump. Could it be I wasn't using them properly? Perhaps. Nobody ever confused me with a member of Mensa, and in my old age I tend to be humbled by the "new fangled" technology that kids can traverse in their sleep, but how difficult should it be to dry your hands after "paying the water bill?" I ended up "drying" my hands on the front of my pants.
I did walk past the food stations that appeared to be open, but not necessarily doing a thriving business. A Burger King. A Pizza Hut. A Nathan's. Thankfully, my breakfast cereal and bran muffin were still holding strong, and I didn't need to put myself in debt in order to partake of over-salted, mediocre junk food.
My final step was to gas up at the Sunoco. If I didn't put myself into debt by buying junk food inside, I more than made up for it by filling my tank, but then I can't really blame that on Sunoco or Clara Barton. After all, at this stage of the game, there's no gas to be had in the whole of NJ that's below $4 a gallon. The guy pumping gas was genial enough, although the total came to something like $34.67, and he stood there expectantly. I'm used to attendants rounding the amount up to something like...well, $35.00. Are you really going to give me 33 cents in change? Evidently not, because he finally "got it," and rounded it off.
Overall? Not a horrible experience, given what my limited needs were. A relatively clean rest room (although a more accurate evaluation could probably be made when it's crowded...wait until summer!), junk food and drink available if you're willing to pay through the nose for them, and places to sit and "rest" while you consume the overpriced food and drink.
But I have seen better. That place up on the NY/CT border comes immediately to mind. read more