Pit Stop

As we made our way back home from Philadelphia, or at least to my oldest son's home in Newark, Ohio, we made a side trip while still well from arrival. 

The place had several impressive amenities. There were picnic tables here and there outside, while inside the building were sitting areas arranged in conference style, tables surrounded by six quite comfortable looking chairs. Broad, wide windows illuminated a spacious central room which you might even call an atrium. Interior walls were decorated with maps both modern and historic, detailing places and events of yore. There were even a few articles of interest from local artisans along with past archaeological finds. An extensive array of vending machines were to the side and blended into the scene unobtrusively, almost apologetic in their presence. Porticos ran along opposite outside walls, and were lined with sturdy yet graceful rocking chairs. One was occupied by a woman, relaxing and reading a book. It was very nearly a resort. 

Have I mentioned yet that we were at a rest area on Interstate 70 in southeast Ohio?

The place was made up as though it were a destination rather than a convenient spot for, ah, urgent human functions. Do folks actually go there simply to lounge? Would a husband wishing to spend time with his wife ask, "Honey, feel like taking a little time off this afternoon and chilling at the bathrooms on I-70? They have cold drinks and small bags of Doritos. We could pack a lunch. The sunset from the west portico is divine." Of course as I've said, one person was indeed sitting on a rocker reading as though on the deck of a cruise ship or in the lobby of a spa. 

I get it. I get that states try to make rest areas double as promotional adverts for local and statewide places and events. Yet this felt like something beyond that: something almost surreal. 'Welcome to Ohio! Come for the potties, stay for the views.' 

A bit over the top for a bathroom break, in my opinion.