by Jim Quinn, The Burning Platform:

“Any formal attack on ignorance is bound to fail because the masses are always ready to defend their most precious possession – their ignorance.” ― Hendrik Willem van Loon

We sold our Wildwood condo in January, so no more stories about Section 8 neighbors cursing on the deck or trying to sell drugs to our renters. Owning a condo and renting it all summer kept us away from Wildwood during the busiest summer weeks, so we rarely experienced the joy of mingling with the People of Wildwood – a subset of the People of Wal-Mart. Even when we spent time at our condo, we could sit on our deck and observe the sheeple from a safe distance.

We still love the beaches, boardwalk and bars in Wildwood, so we continue to spend time there. We’ve rented at a couple of nice motels in North Wildwood so far this summer. The owners were nice, the rooms clean, and the fellow guests were polite normal families acting like civilized human beings. The motels were on the beach block and walk-able to the boardwalk and nicer bars in Anglesea. Both experiences were delightful.

With my wife’s restaurant closed for the week for renovations, we realized we had a free weekend earlier in the week. She tried to make reservations at the motels where we had stayed. No luck. They were booked. She proceeded to try another fifteen nice motels in North Wildwood. All booked. These are the most popular weeks at the shore. We had almost given up, when she tried a motel closer to the boardwalk that had just had a cancellation. We were happy with our last second good luck. I checked the on-line reviews and they were all 4 or 5 ratings. I was expecting a place on par with our previous motels. Boy was I wrong.

We pulled into the motel parking lot a little after noon on Friday. We went into the office and met the ancient owner with a voice created from at least 40 years of heavy smoking. She proudly stated her motel had no rules. We should have taken that statement as a warning, but it was 80 degrees and sunny, we were psyched to be at the shore and we were anticipating a good time. We got the key, grabbed our luggage and proceeded towards our 2nd floor corner room. We had to slide by a vehicle that looked like it came from the Road Warrior movie. That should have been our first warning, but we continued our trek.

And there he was. At first I didn’t believe what I was witnessing. As we walked past the lower floor rooms towards the stairs there was a 300 pound twenty something shirtless whale bent over in the chair in front of his room clipping his toenails onto the walkway. He didn’t move as we tried to maneuver past him without getting hit with flying toenail shrapnel. At that moment we realized we had made a really bad choice.

We had entered the ignorant masses zone. It turns out he may have been the only person at the motel concerned about his appearance. I was actually impressed he could reach his toenails with the clippers with his rotund girth. In his sub 85 IQ mind, publicly grooming himself was perfectly acceptable behavior. IT’S NOT!!!!

The room was really small, but it was clean. There was no bedroom. The bedroom was the room. The couch was also a pullout bed. When the window blinds were open you could see directly into the room from outside. We could also witness our fellow renters in all their depraved glory as they shuffled to and fro outside. It was not a stellar start to our weekend. But it was only a block to the beach and boardwalk, where we planned to spend most of our time.

As we settled into our room and got ready to go to the beach we noticed more of our deck neighbors planting themselves in the chairs in front of our window. It seemed like all the rooms surrounding our room were occupied by white trash acquaintances whose sole daily plan was to sit on the narrow deck with shirts off, consuming as much beer and cigarettes as humanly possible, while discussing Einstein’s theory of relativity, the likely outcome of the Trump Putin Summit and the economic impact of Trump’s trade war.

It was then we realized it must be a requirement that at least 50% of your body be covered in hideous tattoos to stay at this fine establishment. These pictures do not do justice to the depravity of the human beings sitting on the deck outside our room.

Once we were ready to go to the beach we had to run the gauntlet of the wretched refuse blocking the walkway outside our door. As I acted like a normal human by saying excuse me, the tattooed trollop barely moved to let me by. The leader of the pack (with a soaring IQ of 88) attempted to joke about them using our chairs without permission. It was all very jovial as we bolted down the stairs to get away from this loathsome cadre of lowlife Americans.

But there was no escape. We had to pass toe nail guy’s room, along with five or six other rooms with a bunch of in-bred repugnant white trash sitting on the chairs outside their rooms drinking and smoking, while waiting for the chicken necks to cook on the community barbecue next to the pool. One dude sounded like he was going to cough up a lung as we passed. At the previous motels we liked sitting next to the pool while reading our books. We both concluded there was no way in hell we’d be going anywhere near that pool. It was likely functioning as a white trash bath and bathroom simultaneously.

I admit I am a judgemental prick. I am constantly assessing my surroundings and the people I come in contact with. I judge my government, the press, Wall Street scumbags, neighbors, family, coworkers, and the free shit army marching in the streets of West Philly. If you are honest, you’ll admit to making judgements about people you see and talk to every day. My wife is the nice one. She tries to see the good in people. She is an optimist by nature. She was left speechless by the repulsiveness of what we had just witnessed. She was unable to find one redeeming quality in the people we were sharing the motel with.

We finally made it to the beach and tried to blot the sordid images of flying toe nails, tattoos, beer and cigarette butts out by sitting in our beach chairs by the ocean reading our books and soaking in the sun. The beach was occupied by normals. The deviants were all at our motel. We stayed for over three hours, dreading the return to motel hell. When we went back it was as if no one had moved. These dregs of society had consumed a few cases of beer and a few packs of smokes while pondering the deeper issues of life, like where they should get their next tattoo and calculating when their next Social Security Disability check was arriving.

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