This is what we call the "Sticks"...
A few days ago I had the pleasure of venturing out Millstone, New Jersey. What a quaint, sticks-y like place. I was there to drop off a construction permit to their municipal complex. When I arrived ... i was shocked really, at the destination that I arrived at. The outside of the building needed a painting and some other work but when I arrived inside, that's where the shock took me.
The inside of this municipal complex is best described as the basement of a church that would host meetings for the boy scouts. To the right side of the room was a party table opened up with a man behind it. There was a piano with a tarp over half of it. Behind the table with the gentlemen was a sad looking kitchenette that has definitely seen better days. Since I wasn't there for the coffee and pie I proceeded forward ans asked "Could you tell me where the construction office is?" The man laughed and said "Welcome to the construction office".
I should have seen that one coming but I didn't for I am an idiot. I give this office a lot of credit for dealing business in the setting that they were in. They really tried to make it work. After sitting down across the make shift desk i was told that i needed to obtain a money order to complete the process of paying for the permit. I could see it right away that they had no means of handling cash here. So I was directed to head down the road to the post office. This was another adventure in itself.
I arrived at the post office just two blocks up the country road and upon entering, i could tell i was in the same situation with a few minor changes in the details. I was in a post office, I could tell by the outside markings and the mailboxes in the lobby. I entered through the door to where the register was located and was startled by a bell that was taped to the door. TAPED! I was immediately sad and even more sad when I saw the sole sailor aboard an abandoned ship . A ship of which all the curtains were drawn and the supplies were almost gone. The man behind the counter was fumbling with the payment machine on the counter and ignored my arrival. It was just him and I amongst this creaky old vessel, he should have at least said hello. Instead he proceeded with his task at hand. Once he finished he picked his aged head up slightly and said "hello there". I explained to the man that I needed a money order and upon receiving the request, he put himself into err.. action? Like a turtle he looked and moved. This was after all the same situation as down the street in the municipality. It was sad to see a national institution like a post office to be so forgotten and in disrepair.
After leaving the post office I headed back down the street to complete my original task. Once completed I was on the road enjoying the views of the rolling hills and the small farms that flanked the road. It was really a nice ride and then I got into Jackson and I was again saddened by what I knew of Jackson. Eek.
The inside of this municipal complex is best described as the basement of a church that would host meetings for the boy scouts. To the right side of the room was a party table opened up with a man behind it. There was a piano with a tarp over half of it. Behind the table with the gentlemen was a sad looking kitchenette that has definitely seen better days. Since I wasn't there for the coffee and pie I proceeded forward ans asked "Could you tell me where the construction office is?" The man laughed and said "Welcome to the construction office".
I should have seen that one coming but I didn't for I am an idiot. I give this office a lot of credit for dealing business in the setting that they were in. They really tried to make it work. After sitting down across the make shift desk i was told that i needed to obtain a money order to complete the process of paying for the permit. I could see it right away that they had no means of handling cash here. So I was directed to head down the road to the post office. This was another adventure in itself.
I arrived at the post office just two blocks up the country road and upon entering, i could tell i was in the same situation with a few minor changes in the details. I was in a post office, I could tell by the outside markings and the mailboxes in the lobby. I entered through the door to where the register was located and was startled by a bell that was taped to the door. TAPED! I was immediately sad and even more sad when I saw the sole sailor aboard an abandoned ship . A ship of which all the curtains were drawn and the supplies were almost gone. The man behind the counter was fumbling with the payment machine on the counter and ignored my arrival. It was just him and I amongst this creaky old vessel, he should have at least said hello. Instead he proceeded with his task at hand. Once he finished he picked his aged head up slightly and said "hello there". I explained to the man that I needed a money order and upon receiving the request, he put himself into err.. action? Like a turtle he looked and moved. This was after all the same situation as down the street in the municipality. It was sad to see a national institution like a post office to be so forgotten and in disrepair.
After leaving the post office I headed back down the street to complete my original task. Once completed I was on the road enjoying the views of the rolling hills and the small farms that flanked the road. It was really a nice ride and then I got into Jackson and I was again saddened by what I knew of Jackson. Eek.
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