West Hollywood Library, West Hollywood, California

As much as I expected Beverly Hills to have a knock out library, I had far lower expectations for West Hollywood's branch, despite the hopeful, crisp pictures I'd seen online. You might have different expectations of Hollywood before you actually visit the area--I wasn't expecting it to be so dirty and sad, for example, with lots of people out in shabby costumes trying to get money from tourists however they could. It's very similar to Times Square, just with fewer skyscrapers and more palm trees. I am speaking about the Hollywood I visited 10 years ago, so for all I know it could be a beautiful oasis of Human Kindness and Golden Streets. I only visited the library this time around, so can't speak on the status of the tourist-y areas.

My memories from 10 years prior are of the Mann's Chinese Theater part of Hollywood...there is clearly so much more to the town than one grimy little area. My route to the West Hollywood Library took me down Melrose which evoked a sly smile out of me a couple of times as I remembered Alison and Billy and that Terrible Cheater Michael and of course Slutty Sidney and Hot Jake. The Melrose that I saw was full of very trendy eateries and stores--upper crust and over my head. I would have been far more heart-palpitate-y about it in my 20s, but I am an old goat now so it didn't have quite the same impact.

The driving since Texas has been more or less what I would expect--including California--though I did find running the Melrose gauntlet to be the most death defying trip. Apparently the rule here is not only "You Won't Hit Me" but also "Go Ahead, Punk, Hit Me." I had to be an extremely defensive driver for the long stretch down to the library, but I made it through unscathed, though a little, well, heart palpitate-y.

Note the garage ceiling matches the interior ceiling.

West Hollywood Library has garage parking that the library validates, which I found absolutely wonderful--I know it is a lot to ask in a big city like LA, so I don't take for granted that they extend this courtesy. It's a big deal. I parked and started to head in, taking a series of elevators up to the library itself. It is situated right across the street from the Pacific Design Center, a place so self-consciously designed you feel like you have to look at it with Ray Bans on and then remove them slowly and say something catchy like, "That's Primary Color Cool, Man." Like, calm down, Pacific Design Center. We see you.

This library, though. All I could think as I made my way through its shiny white interior was OH OH OH OH OH OH OH. OH MY OH MY. And similar. Because it was so pretty. Like, Pretty Pretty. You know how there are attractive people and then there are unicorn people? This is a unicorn library. So very pretty.

I went upstairs where the majority of the stacks are located. There are a fair number of people biding time there (sleeping, playing on phones, etc.) but there were an equal amount set up with laptops, notebooks, books, etc., most of which were at simple wooden desks aligned next to the all-glass wall. This was by far the coolest part of the whole experience, because I managed to secure the back corner seat, right in front of the joint of the the glass walls. It was a beautiful view (yes, even with OMG Here-I-Am Pacific Design Center across the street) because I could see the all the people walking back and forth, traffic racing toward some Trendy Thing, and the Hollywood hills in the backdrop...all on an eye-wateringly bright day. California.

 It was such an odd place to write about Duarte and Eagle Rock, the dissonance was undeniable. One was full on flash and style while the others were understated and conventional. But they all serve the the same greater good--and at the heart of a shared purpose, all true libraries are the same. Yes, I said "True," yes, I am looking at you San Bernardino.

I had a long, long drive ahead of me, so I had to pack it up in the early afternoon, but I was happy that West Hollywood was the last California library I would visit. It left a warm and shiny impression.

Eagle Rock Branch, Los Angeles, California

Um, have you guys ever heard of Eagle Rock before? I hadn't. The minute I exited the highway I knew I was in Cool Towne, USA. I drove down Colorado Boulevard and was immediately charmed by the 50s neon architecture, trendy eateries, and pretty homes that dotted the hills all around. The longer I was there, the more obvious it became that this was one of those "up and coming" neighborhoods where young families with fortunes flocked to play house, break bread, and soak up all that California sun very near to the heart of downtown LA. It is certainly no Beverly Hills (what is) and there are parts of LA that are so trendy they cycle through cool and uncool periods with the tides of Venice Beach--Eagle Rock is different in that it retains that indescribable charm factor. For me, it was all the bee bop a lula, for others I am sure it is something else.

The Eagle Rock Branch Library predates the neighborhood's 2 Kool 4 Skool era. If I had to guess DOB, I'd say somewhere in the 50s or 60s, though it could be older. In comparison to Duarte, I'd say they were a similar age though Eagle Rock appears to have had more updates and better upkeep over the years. It is also a very small library with all the usual offerings (books, DVDs, computers, work desks) though the spaces for people like me were relegated to some simple round tables with no electrical outlets.

The staff was lively, personable, and always on the go, and somehow managed not to shout at every small thing that happened while I was there. Patrons were respectful, quiet, and tended to their own business, be it library-related or just living. Having a little more distance between San Bernardino, I have a better handle on why it bothered me so much. It isn't just about public spaces and who gets to use them and how...it's a general problem I've had since I can remember. It's pretty simple, really. And, at least to me, doesn't seem all that much to ask. Being left the fuck alone.

This doesn't mean that I want to hide in a cave at the edge of the woods and make stick figures of passing campers and maybe scare them a little hooting and hollering in the night (though that sounds FabUlous), it means leave me the fuck alone. If I don't know you and you don't need anything from me (a simple question about weather or finding a place nearby with no added agenda--totally fine), let's nod pleasantries at most. If it is natural to engage, we'll engage. What I cannot handle is people who think they can encroach on anyone's space at any time for any reason. And for the love of God, if you touch someone without permission?

No.

This is an agency issue, and something a lot of little girls in particular have problems with, being foisted bodily into situations where they have no choice in the matter and must let smelly, weird, gross adults hug and maul them, complete with bad breath, ugly intentions, and sometimes while stupid drunk. If I sound too familiar with this scenario, shocker: I am. And worse. When you finally get a sense of yourself and realize that you decide who can and cannot invade your space, the level of hot rage you carry at previous infractions can be staggering. So, if you aren't already hip to the jive, let me be clear: Don't "make" kids hug and kiss people. It's not cool.

This also extends to things like door-to-door religion. Salesmen, who cares. Tell them to go away and they go away. I remember once in college the doorbell rang, I answered it, and there were two earnest faces staring at me. We didn't get a lot of solicitors, so I had no idea what they could possibly want. We lived in a cheap apartment building for students...and this was well before credit card companies gave anyone free credit for infinity, realizing they could live off the fat of interest for a person's lifetime. We couldn't buy McDonald's, let alone vacuum cleaners. These visitors were Baptists, however, and wanted to bring me the word of Christ. I was raised Quaker, and more importantly in a family where independent thought was encouraged...as long as you did it at church (or in the car outside of church if you were me, bull headed, and refused to go to Sunday School where all those bitches were pretending to be Christian).

This is the same apartment building where we had a running tally of baby criminals moving in and out of the apartment below us. You had to watch your laundry or people would steal it. It wasn't the worst, but c'mon. It wasn't the best, either. Lots of people who needed actual saving, but they ring my doorbell. I told the Baptists I wasn't interested and proceeded to close the door. They stopped me and said, "But do you think you are going to Heaven?" To which I said, "Yep." And they said in a hectoring, ohreeeaally tone, "Really? How do you know?" And I said BYE and slammed the door in their faces, blood pounding in my head. I'm not big on spiritual violation, either.

One of the first drafts of the San Bernardino entry started "Fuck you, San Bernardino library" or similar, and that's how I felt. I'd already been fucked with outside, came in for some salvation (ha), and found nothing but cold exclusion and dozens of staring eyes--and when it is one against many, those gazes become predatory. The power of the group outweighs the will of the one.

Eagle Rock was just like any other library I've visited--the patrons were a mix of citizenry all there for different purposes, some to do with the library, some only biding time. The nice thing about Eagle Rock was that we all were able to do our own thing in the same shared space and no one felt compelled to impose themselves on anyone else. Indeed 2 Kool 4 Skool.

Duarte Library, Duarte, California

There could be anything in there. Anything at all.

To give perspective on this entry and the ones on each side of it, it should be explained that I went to three libraries in one day, starting at the soul-sucking San Bernardino, then on to Duarte, and ending in Eagle Rock. It was a very long day.

Claimed.

Having fled San Bernardino and feeling not at all confident about myself or my surroundings, I decided to go to the next closest place on my list and see how it panned out. I still had places on the list that were well into Los Angeles (Hollywood, Inwood) but the drives were over an hour and I just wasn't in the mood for it. I wanted to sit down somewhere quiet and just write for awhile.

What little I saw of the town of Duarte was fine--I'd noticed the Old Spaghetti Factory right next to the highway as I'd passed back and forth multiple times over the past couple of days, and since the library is right down the street, I at least felt like I had my bearings. The Duarte Library itself is a plain, squat building, very basic, and small. The exterior is a riotous, semi-managed celebration of every bush, plant, and tree you could fathom, all overrun by spiders. I took a picture of one shrub, but the whole front of the place was covered in spiderwebs. Hence the "semi."

I found a single-occupant desk to settle into, complete with electricity and space for all of my stuff, and proceeded to sign on to the library's wifi. Not so simple! The County of Los Angeles requires that you have a library card in order to use the wifi. This was a first on my travels, and I was initially annoyed having no idea how much of a pain this was going to be. Every library system is different. In some, you have to be a resident of the county to even qualify for a library card. Not the case in LA, thank goodness, and I was issued a temporary library card valid for 30 days, even with my hilarious temporary Kansas drivers licence. It's basically a paper receipt. I've gotten looks.

Duarte was also the first library I've visited where patrons had to be buzzed in to the bathrooms. Few of the library bathrooms I've visited on this trip have been much better than gas station bathrooms (some a little better, some much worse) so I understand this rule...though I couldn't tell that it made any difference whatsoever to the overall condition of the bathroom. It wasn't the worst, but...

While I am thinking of it (because Duarte failed in this regard as so many places do, and unforgivably so)--People of Earth! People Who Own Businesses! Especially Where Patrons are Allowed to Use the Bathroom! HEAR ME: Hooks. HOOKS. We need hooks to hang our stuff. HOOKS. It costs you barely anything and it makes all the difference in the world. NO, we do not want to put our bags on your pee stained floor. HOOKS. For the love of all that is holy.

Duarte was old and run down, but basically well maintained with a steady stream of locals coming and going. Although my neighbor to the left made some noise (he was watching a movie on his phone, with headphones, and marking down something in a notepad. He would start to get worked up and kind of hoot, squeal, and seem to cry--sometimes beating his leg--then after awhile he would stop, rip the page out of the notebook, tear it in half, take it over to the trash, and throw it away. Repeat.) the noisiest people by far was the staff. There was a huge, yelling To Do about a bug in the bathroom, with people going to see and coming out again, all just yelling and yelling. Turns out, it was a fly. In the toilet. A dead fly. Thoughts and prayers, Duarte Library staff.

Hunger drove me toward destiny, the Old Spaghetti Factory. Sicilian meatballs, lunch prices, and ridiculously over the top decor? Sign me UP. I would have loved the hell out of this place as a kid. Even adult me had to admit it was pretty fly (eep). Look at it. And the food wasn't too bad, either.

Redrum.

Norman F. Feldheym Central Library, San Bernardino, California

I have started and restarted this entry and I'm just about to give up. It is perhaps unfair of me to blog it at all, but the point of these visits includes assessing my ability to actually use these libraries. The fact that I could not bear to stay should say volumes without me piling on, but I'm going to, anyway.

I chose the Norman F. Feldheym Central Library in San Bernardino, California based on the Google reviews and the photos featured alongside the main entry. As I've mentioned here before, I dig architecture of doom, and this building certainly seemed to qualify. Pulling up to the library parking lot, what I saw did not disappoint.

I am not sure what you would call the exterior style: Bauhaus? Postmodern Gothic? Scary Blocks of Unbridled Rage? I dug it from first sight and wanted to get a closer view. I hoped the interior was just as gloomy and austere.

The entire site was surrounded by beautiful foliage, so I circled around to the front of the building to get as many good shots as I could. I love the idea of this hunched monster, belly to the ground, peering at the citizenry through the leaves and underbrush. It was a giant, toothy cerebus pup left at the side of the road, hungry and growing bolder.

As I was taking pictures, I was peripherally aware of a woman raising her voice near me. She had a dog tied to her cart which had been barking since I'd arrived. She let it loose and it ran off to play in the grass, much to her consternation. I thought she was yelling at the dog, and even when I heard her say "Woman tries to tell me, I know what I am doing with my dog, don't you try to tell me, you're about to learn something today . . ." I thought she was talking to herself. Turns out, she wasn't.

Maybe everyone does this, but speaking soley for myself, I have been known to play out scenarios in my head to prepare myself for what I imagine is the worst possible way things might go. It happens when I am in conflict with anyone (I've imagined our fight) and when I am facing something stressful, like chairing a meeting (I've imagined hurling all over the desk in front of the entire company). I thought the woman was doing something akin to that, just out loud for all to hear. Alas, no. She decided that I was judging her (something I fear from others, as well, so I get it) especially in terms of her dog, and was lecturing me on what a good dog owner she was.

I went inside the building to get away from her (the dog, by the way, was matted but looked happy and fed otherwise. I've see an insane man beat a dog on the N train and no one did anything about it. The fuck do I care about San Bernardino dog? Exactly zero). I know she was projecting her own fears on me (and I wouldn't be surprized if someone had harassed her about the dog so she just yells at anyone who comes near them) but it set the tenor for the rest of the "visit."

Norman F. Feldeym looks like a nice man. There is a bust of him in the dark main hallway. There is also a skylight of sorts that somehow permits very little light into the building itself, as you can see.

The library part of the building was very small. When I walked in, I could see they were doing some sort of renovation, with plastic taped up to cover almost the entire wall behind circulation. Every computer station, work station, work table, and chair was occupied. No one appeared to be there for any other reason than to have a place to be for the day. Very few people had books or papers, and there were a lot of eyes on me as I made my rounds through the building, quickly realizing I was going to have to leave. Immediately.

They weren't staring at me because I was such a biscuit . . . I was an interloper and definitely did not belong. Every gaze I met with library staff reflected back flat and unsmiling. And the interior itself? I only managed to take two quick snaps as I exited and even they cast too kind a light on the place. As I mentioned on Facebook, the very first thing I thought when exiting the parking lot was "Miami Vice Autopsy Theater." And that was the era this place last saw an update, as far as I could tell.

All of this could be forgiven if the staff appeared to care, but they seemed like a group of people disconnected from the present and just waiting until it was time to lock up and head home. I do not pretend to know their actual thoughts, but there are probably sunnier, better outfitted, and more wholly supported prison libraries. The faces of the staff matched the overall mood of the place, turning it from dreary and uncomfortable to downright inhospitable.

It wasn't a library. It has books and periodicals and people can check them out, but that's about it. They should just deliver books to patrons or have a drive through window. The only thing to be gained from going in the building is to fall deeper into depression, drop the pretenses, and start hitting the needle.

Harsh? Don't care. This was the nice version. This is as good as it gets.

Beverly Hills Public Library, Beverly Hills, California

I was feeling a little unsure about the library list I'd put together for the L.A. area, especially after having my sensory circuits burnt out by Pasadena's library, so I did a search and found this short and sweet article. I updated my list a bit, but put a star next to the Beverly Hills Public Library. The "White Room" children's section sounded absolutely crazy, so obviously I had to see it.

Before heading over to Beverly Hills, I made my failed attempt at the main L.A. library downtown. Unfortunately, the construction chaos around the building (and my growing frustration), killed any drive I had to keep circling to try and find a space to park, so I used the time at the next stop light to tell Google Map Woman to head on over to Beverly Hills.

My route took me down Wilshire Boulevard which was an ever changing landscape of shiny business, clean lines, degrading to squalor, dead spaces, old lots, then commercial spaces starting sketchy and ending in Beverly Hills where, as you would expect, everything was clean, ordered, and opulent.

Being the rude W'erin, all I could think of was 80s pastel movies like Down and Out in Beverly Hills, Troop Beverly Hills, the Beverly Hillbillies, and, of course, the "Rockin" theme music to Beverly Hills 90210. In my head, I knew I was being a bit of a snot, but it wasn't an entirely unpredictable thought process for a person who grew up with little to no money. Until fairly recently, I've struggled with the feeling that I did not fit in...anywhere. As a child, I went to six different schools during the elementary years, which I think set me up to never quite feel at home in whatever space I happened to land. Horace Mann Middle School was such a hostile environment that the alienation became a normal state of being. Everywhere I've lived or worked, same thing, different reasons.

So, it was a comfort to drive into Beverly Hills knowing I did not belong--this time, for certain, without anyone telling me of course you do, or you have friends you ass, or it is all in your head. (All of which are "very nice" but also a form of emotional abuse, best intentions or not. Invalidating someone else's feelings--and, by extension, the reason they have them in the first place--is seriously not cool.) In Beverly Hills, you do not belong. Nope. Nope. I don't care if you are human. Or even an American Human. Sorry. You don't belong. (And never will.)

The great thing is: They can't make you leave. It's a free country, eh? Especially when governmental services are in play. Which means I could park in the lot (free for 2 hours, afterward you pay), walk into the library, and use it for as long as I wished, until closing at least. To be clear: The whole experience was nothing but positive from start to finish. Every person I engaged with was friendly and helpful. But what helped me (and any remaining mental blocks) more than anything was disarming the idea of not belonging. Going in knowing you are not Beverly Hills material means you have nothing to prove. The tension disperses and you can just go about your business, be productive, buy a white chocolate pretzel from the Fudge Shoppe, and leave.

I'll write about it in the next entry, but this is the point that must be made, here and now, and set in stone forever, amen: The difference between the Beverly Hills Public Library and the soon-to-be-visited San Bernardino Public Library is night and day, and not just because they are aesthetically different: One was welcoming, the other was not. Beverly Hills didn't give me a lollipop and lei me the minute I walked in the door, and Beverly Hills did have indigent folks sleeping in chairs here and there. When I met eyes with the library staff, they smiled warmly, and when I found my place to settle down it was crowded with others who were also working, reading, or playing on their laptops. San Berdardino was a different matter altogether: hostile, isolating, and ultimately a place where I could not stand to work.

I guess this is where we get into the argument, What is the Purpose of a Library? There's no denying one community has massive amounts of money to spend on services while the other clearly does not. There will be a disparity; it cannot be avoided. It is just too bad that some communities have libraries that have slipped below the acceptable line between service and servitude. I'll get into it more later.

The Beverly Hills library is quite striking in places, though the general vibe is definitely all kinds of 1980s. There is a reason those movies were circling in my head, because the overall pastel, Miami Vice aesthetic was impossible deny. Look at the stacks and shelving in general and you will see that pale blue, peach, and gray so indicative of 1980s fashion and design. The overall effect is not overbearing--it is more of a mellow suggestion, a whisper and a wink. I loved it.

The children's area was indeed as weird as I hoped, especially in terms of the I Want to Be an Apple Store whiteness that instantly reminded me of 2001: A Space Odyssey when Dave goes on his "Trip" through the psychedelic kaleidoscope and ends up in his own, freaky White Room. It's such an odd choice for a kids section of a library . . . even more so for the Beverly Hills area, where no doubt middle America assumes children are wrapped in plastic and kept Brillo clean until they go to Harvard. It also reminded me of those department stores of long ago, especially the fancy ones. Wichita once had a store called Henry's, which was one of the anchor stores in the mall--it was very high end and everything was white . . . as though it dared you to try to mar its lovely surfaces. Something no one would ever do for fear of punishment, Hell, or banishment, who knows. I wonder if that's how the Beverly Hills kids feel in this all-white atmosphere? Or is it just another day in the Apple Store?

My absolute favorite part of this library was the view over the main floor from the area directly above. Look at those lines. And all those delicious books.

I am glad I ran across that article and got a chance to see the Beverly Hills Public Library. The staff was professional and courteous, the majority of the patrons were there for a purpose, and the ones who weren't minded their business and let the rest of us do likewise. The only distraction was a Local Personality (he had to be, there is no question) that would swoop in and demand the attention of a woman sitting at the table catty corner from mine. They looked like they were related, maybe brother and sister, tall and gangly, in their 60s with white, flowing hair. She looked very BH, all in black, with thick, round rimmed glasses, bejeweled but not overstated, and seriously at work at her laptop. He was . . .  extraordinary. By any standards on any coast. On earth. He was like . . . a Neon Newspaper about Arabian Nights designed by Betsey Johnson who're all Suddenly Seeking Susan. Extraordinary. He was wearing about six pairs of glasses. He was quietly hissing and agitated. But library agitated. It was all very dramatic, but I still have no idea what the deal was. He appeared about three times while I was there, sweeping in and out in such a manner you would swear a wave of glittery, drunken Tinkerbells were tumbling behind him in his wake. Magical.

The library was great, too.

Pasadena Public Library, Pasadena, California

Pasadena Public Library, You Gorgeous Thing. I knew you were somewhere.

If you meet a librarian, and they deign to talk to you about more than the Dewey Decimal system or the godforsaken Government Docs, you will likely find this person equipped with a surgically sharp sense of humor and perhaps even that wicked wit we've witnessed in movies like All About Eve but never truly experience in real life. Real life, by the way, can be downright oppressive when it comes to wit and the witless...some people do not like quick wit and will not stand for it. Go ahead and whip it out in the line for some purchase or another. You will get a look that would melt steel. I only intended to small talk with you MA'AM do you mind.

Librarians often get saddled with a bad rep as serious, humorless task masters, but I've found the majority to be quite the opposite. I mean, don't hurt their library or they'll brass knuckle your face, but otherwise they've got oceans of humor (and have to in order to deal with your crap, citizen).

Anyway, the Pasadena staff no doubt snickered a little to themselves as I gawped and oooo'd my way through their library yesterday. It was Transcendent. It was Luminous in its gloominess . . . Gloominous? It was Perfection in every dark wood nook and brass affixed cranny. OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG. OMG.

Though it was built in 1927, there is probably a picture of Jack Nicholson smiling at the camera somewhere within it's walls because if this thing and the Overlook didn't come from the same alternate universe, then I don't know what. It's in the Spanish style those '20s folks loved so much, especially in California, but within is all Gothic, deep, dark wood and charm, with haunted, scarily lit, subterranean stacks (much like the Watson Library at KU) thrown in for good measure.

OH you pretty, pretty thing.

Go to California for whatever reason (Hollywood, Disney, beaches) but go go go to the Pasadena library at some point on your vacation. It is well worth the trip and Pasadena itself is a beautiful area with lots of shopping and eateries abound. Go if for nothing else than to experience an old building nearing its centennial...you can smell the years, that ancient library smell of text on paper, old bindings and the ghosts of card catalogs past.

I love a new library, but there is something consistently cheap and transitory about these places. They look like buildings made to be torn down. There is no way that any of them will withstand 90 years of patronage, use, and abuse the way that a lot of the older libraries have. Anschutz Science Library is a perfect example of this temporariness. It had only been up and running a couple of years by the time I started working there and already the wallpaper was peeling from the junctures near the ceilings in several places. We experienced a major water leak, as well, which wiped out two rows of periodicals and journals. Parts of the library were already looking beat to hell and it wasn't even five years old yet. It was sad and, frankly, infuriating. Why built the thing if you aren't going to build it to last?

This should be obvious, but: Enough with tearing old buildings down to replace them with steaming piles of mediocrity. We've all spent our lifetimes watching beautiful structures destroyed only to be replaced with unforgivable (and completely irredeemable) strip malls or Walgreens. While not everything can be to the highest standards (no one would be able to afford anything), shouldn't government institutions be held to a different level of expectation? Again, why bother if it isn't going to last? (We could go on and on about this, couldn't we? Short term solutions without long term considerations? Because that's the world we live in.)

Are you dying yet? Look at this place. It is unfreakingbelievable. Yes, that is a word. 

Someone should help me write an anthem to this library. It is simply too beautiful and important not to sing it to the rooftops. The working environment, by the way, was perfect--calibrated precisely to my desires. If I could have stayed longer, I would have, but hunger drove me out into the streets of Pasadena to find the delightful and delicious Pie-n-Burger, which is a very basic, diner-type place that has been around for an age and a half and knows exactly what it is doing. 

The burger was yummy, particularly because they butter-toast the bun beforehand so it has this decadent crunchiness that turns a basic burger into a must-have, growling and snapping, wolf attack situation. Also, it's served with thousand island dressing, so make sure to tell them to hold it if that's not your thing. I went through about 60 napkins eating the thing so use that as a measuring stick for just how good it is. The fries were great, too, but I put on the brakes because there was one thing on the menu I knew I could not leave without trying. 

If you go, get the pie. Holy God In Heaven, Get The PIE. I ordered the banana cream and experienced the rare, often-imitated-in-commercials eye-widening and involuntary MMMMMMing that would have embarrassed me when I was a young lady, but after 60 napkins who cares. It had sliced bananas in it and the crust was made from some demon graham cracker/regular pie crust that was so insanely good I cannot adequately describe it.

Pie-n-Burger had a steady stream of people coming and going to either eat there or pick up orders to go so I would expect this joint will still be standing after the US of A is a smoldering ash of replacement windows, vinyl siding, and linoleum.