Almost two weeks ago, Ryan and I finally took a weekend trip to check out Delaware. With the exception of bumper to bumper traffic in DC (at 2:30 in the afternoon…aren’t people supposed to be at work at 2:30??), the trip was uneventful. We couldn’t get a hotel in Dover itself because there was some sort of church convention & bridal show going on, and we ended up staying in Middletown at the brand spanking new Hampton Inn.
Once we got to the hotel, the real fun began. We left the car underneath the valet/overhang, checked in, and took a peek at the room. Went back downstairs to take the suitcase and three tote bags out of the car (I travel in bulk), and as I opened the car door to grab my purse. Purse was not in the front, of the car, so I looked in the back. No Purse. I looked underneath piles of jackets and tote bags and there was No Purse.
“Ryan! My purse! My fucking purse isn’t here! I lost my fucking purse! It’s in a bathroom! Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.”
And Ryan, who I swear doesn’t have much of a pulse, much or less blood pressure, is just looking at me.
“Everything is in there! Oh my G-d! Where was that Wendy’s we stopped at in Maryland? What about that rest stop? Was that Virginia? I lost my fucking purse!”
“Ok, ok, we’ll get it. Let’s just grab some things and take them upstairs. We’ll figure it out there.” How he was so calm is beyond me. I was having a conniption, right there in front of who knows how many people at the Hampton Inn and he’s calm as can be.
“You need to give me your credit cards..we have to cancel EVERYTHING. Oh my goodness, I can’t believe I could be so stupid!” I’m still freaking out on the ride up the elevator, into the room. I’m already imaging identity theft, ruined credit scores just before we have to take out a mortgage for a new house.
We walk into the hotel room, and sitting on the bed is the fucking purse. Ryan starts laughing (not at me, he swears), but laughing none the less.
After I hit Ryan a few times for laughing, we drove around Middletown, Odessa, Smyrna (I think), & eventually Dover. Middletown’s homes are HUGE. We’re talking McMansions. The normal sized, modest homes are in neighborhoods with pimped out cars on the front lawn. The McMansions start in the mid 350’s-450’s. The homes with pimped out cars in the lawn are in the $280-325 range. We start to sweat.
Middletown has a brand new Lowes, a brand new Starbucks, a Dunkin Donuts, a few liquor stores and a brand new grocery store. I already located the ever-important Goodwill, but that’s about it.
Odessa has homes, farms, and wine & liquor stores.
Smyrna looks like the same as Odessa.
And Dover?
For my Charleston friends, Dover resembles Rivers Ave from Meeting up to well beyond the TridentTech, Barnes & Noble, & Kmart.
For my Miami/Ft. Lauderdale friends, Dover resembles 441.
There are things in Dover. Things that resemble businesses and shops, but they aren't places you want to go visit. It's certainly not pretty. The tallest structure wasn’t a building, but the stands for the Dover Downs Racetrack. I didn’t see Starbucks. I didn’t see Barnes & Noble or Borders. The only bookstore I saw was called “Atlantic Books,” which from the signs that I was able to see from the road, boasted “75% off all books!” A book warehouse.
It’s dark out. I’m getting tired. There is no appetite to speak of and I’m beginning to freak out.
I didn't see any of the Big Name Banks that are supposed to be nation wide. On nearly every block there is a Check Cashing Store, Title Loan shop, Dunkin Donuts, and Wine & Liquor store. But...
No coffee shops?
No Target?
No REAL book stores??
No restaurants to speak of…oh wait, scratch that, there was an Olive Garden sitting right next to a Red Lobster. Places we never visit…but when in Delaware…
Waiting for a table at Olive Garden. Contemplating a glass of wine from the bar. Ryan asks the hostess if there are any bookstores around, and gets the response, of, “Hmm…um, well there’s Atlantic Books…and I think there might be something in the mall, but I’m not really sure.”
So already I’m thinking Dover isn’t much better than Charleston. In fact, maybe Charleston isn’t bad at all…
We’re seated…and I can’t help but feel like I’m at a cafeteria. I have no appetite. I don’t want something big, but I don’t want just a salad either. We order. There is a party of 15 near us, with the smallest baby I’ve ever seen in public, and the poor thing obviously can’t hold it’s head up, but the mother(?) doesn’t seem to care or notice.
Dinner takes FOREVER, especially for Olive Garden which usually tries to get you in and out. Even the waitress is asking me if everything is OK.
On the way home I need something for my stomach. It’s going to be a long weekend…
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