Howard Johnson Motel, Highway 1, New Brunswick, New Jersey...........the Trucker's Rate. Does that say it all or what?
My clean little suburban San Diego sensibilities have definitely been left behind in the dust. I must say that having lived in France for over 3 years now has somehow prepared me for this experience over here on the other side of the tracks better than anything I ever lived Stateside. That is only because living in a foreign country increases one's tolerance for differences rather quickly.
My mission this week is to help install my oldest daughter into Rutgers University to begin her graduate studies. Neither one of us were prepared for our experience so far.
I know that it is not fair but I blame this on my divorce. I am sure that somehow things would be different if my husband had not become "monkified" and had stayed in his chair at our accounting office.
Instead Katie and I are staying within our new budgetary restrictions and eating white bread toast for breakfast this morning in Howard Johnson's lobby as a hysterical patron complained to the management that she was beaten up the previous night by 3 large dark hotel guests brandishing (not her word - too many syllables) guns and threatening to steal her money. All $246 of it to be exact - her complaints were quite specific.
This kind of stuff just doesn't happen at the Hyatt.
Talk about feeling alien. We are definitely in a foreign country over here.
Just wait until I tell you about the housing choices we have seen from Craig's List - several of them make the HoJo look like a luxury spa.
Yup, that good.
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