Tollroad rest areas: Is there anything more terrifying?

Our family just got back from a short trip to the NJ shore. Before anyone starts pitying me for vacationing in New Jersey (I can say this since that's where I'm originally from), I will add that my husband's family has gone to this particular beach every year since before he was a baby, and NO ONE THERE WEARS T-SHIRTS WITH FRINGE. (So, a less cheesy NJ beach.)

Anyway, the trip filled me with dread since we would be traveling by car with our 5-month old and 3-year old, and this would be our first long road trip with the little one--who knows how he'd handle it. When our 3-year old was his age, we also did the same trip and nearly had respective nervous breakdowns.

It was with this mindset that we ventured off along the I-95 corridor towards The Garden State. Our trip itself was quite the National Lampoon's Jersey Road Trip Adventure, but it was the rest stops that truly terrified me.

First of all, there's the chaos of so many people going in and out, north and south, that I've always feared would-be abductors. At Delaware House a couple of years ago, I overheard a man in front of me in the Starbucks line talking into his hands-free cellphone device about something that sounded like it was lifted right out The Sopranos. You know, something involving whacking. I get into serious en garde mode whenever we're stopped at one, scanning the crowds for psychos, pervs and sociopaths and keep the children glued to me at all times.

Then, there's restrooms. Need I say more? (Okay, but, what's up with the "automatic" toilets that seem to be incapable of flushing automatically? Also, what's up with the TOTAL GROSSNESS?)

Lastly, there is nothing like being hit in the eye with a glimpse of the real America.

Is it just me, or does it seem like the dregs of society congregate at rest areas?

During a lunch stop at Maryland House on our way home, I walked by a girl, probably 12 or 13, wearing a red-checked shirt that was tied just below the nipple line, and this denim short-shorts/suspenders contraption. I nearly fell over. Maybe for women's pro-wrestling but not a young girl. I turned to look at my husband who was looking at me, thinking the exact same thing: Where's Jerry Springer?

Abundant trashiness notwithstanding, I've also noticed a lot of unwelcome glances and stares from people during our stops, stares in response to my children that make me feel uncomfortable. Instead of the usual oh-my-god-she-is-so-adorable, I get the sense that my children's biracialness may be an issue.

That's when I truly feel like I am traveling away from (metropolitan; socially enlightened) home.

The fact that this may be a representative cross-section of America is sobering.

KC also writes at her personal blog, Where's My Cape, and at the group blog Mothers in Medicine.

This is an original DC Metro Moms Blog post.