I've had a couple of odd experiences during my brief visits
to Washington, NJ
in Warren County. The first one involved a trip to
a thrift shop, and a forgotten purse. I was a relatively new mom at the time,
and probably not getting as much sleep as I could have been. I drive the 20
minutes with my little guy, get all the way to the "Y B Normal"
secondhand store, park my car and prepare to remove my son from the car seat.
Suddenly, I realize I don't know where my purse is.
Quickly I run to the trunk, hoping to see a strap of
brown leather popping out from the rubble. Alas, there is none – silly mom has
left her money pouch at home. I dig distractedly into my back pocket, hoping to
find my credit card there, when I hear a woman's voice from behind me.
"Are you okay?" She's parking her large truck,
looking at me with concern.
"Huh?" (thinking I'd better get back into the car
with my son – you never know about weird people approaching suddenly).
"Oh! Yeah, I just realized I left my purse at home!"
"Do you need money for meds?" she shouts over the
street noises.
I gawk in surprise. "What?? No! No, I don't need money
for meds! But uh... thanks!" Quickly I get back into my car and lock the
door.
Money for... meds? Who would ask such a question? What kind
of town is this?
My next bizarre encounter in Washington, NJ
takes place at the pizza place where 57 meets Broadway. And also in the
homemade donut shop, I should clarify. Initially, I was in the donut shop,
about to pay for six donuts of various flavors, when I whip out my trusty
credit card only to discover that the donut shop does not accept credit cards.
(An aside: what kind of business in this day and age doesn't
accept credit cards!?)
I also ask, while I'm there, if I can use the lavatory...
but alas, they do not have one that's open to the public.
So after leaving my box of six donuts in the temporary care
of the young, lanky man working the cash register, I run around Washington for a bit
trying to find the nearest ATM or bank. I drive to PNC Bank, get my money out
for my crummy donuts, get back in the car, and realize that my need to use the
facilities is getting unbearable. I ascertain that the most likely place that
would have a public bathroom is the pizza place on 57 and Broadway.
I go in there, and ask if they have a restroom. The blond
girl behind the counter tells me they do, but it's in the basement. Since I do
not have my child with me at this time, I figure it's safe to venture down
there, because boy do I ever have to go. So she kindly escorts me down a seemingly neverending staircase, into this creepy cellar, where I then have to
make several turns around various piles of old crap and stuff, before arriving at the dingy
and smelly bathroom.
(The girl also hands me some paper towels to wipe with, since they evidently have no toilet paper).
(The girl also hands me some paper towels to wipe with, since they evidently have no toilet paper).
I do my business as quickly as humanly possible, then brave the frightening trip back up the creepy, desolate
stairs. Once I'm back in the restaurant, I say to the girl who helped me, "Wow... I can't believe it's so hard to find a public
bathroom around here!"
She says, "Yeah... the only other one is in the
Krauser's, and I wouldn't recommend that one because that's where all the
drug addicts go to shoot up."
Me: "WHAT? Are you kidding me!?"
Her: "You from around here?"
Me: NO!! (even though I sort of am, at this point. And also, why does everybody in Warren County always ask me that!?).
I thank her for escorting me to the potty and for the paper towel, then make a hasty
exit.
Yes... Washington,
NJ is a very odd town, indeed.