By the age of 8, I had become worldly enough to know that the situations depicted on some of my favorite TV shows like Three’s Company, Diff'rent Strokes, Who’s The Boss? and Out of This World didn’t always hew accurately to real life. I knew it was unlikely that, in a pinch, your housekeper dad would become your homeroom teacher for a day, be a magnanimous billionaire adopting minority orphans straight off the b-ball court, or a disembodied space-spirit inhabiting a glass cube by your bed that looked suspiciously like a set piece from Double Dare.
Commercials, however, were beyond scrutiny. They showed me what I could expect life to hold once I reached the age of majority, like a vacation to a destination where I might enjoy the benefits of having a swimming pool just a few carpeted steps away from my bed.
All I had to bring was my love of “everything”, it promised.
Nothing seemed more desirable, UNLESS I decided to head over the George Washington Bridge for a night of true glamour:
For $44 a night? Yes, please! Even in the 80s that was a steal. I think the hotel Josh Baskin stayed in his first night in New York was more expensive than that.
My parents refused to take me. It never made sense to me that Westchester county, just outside of New York City, got so down home and countrified, but I figured those issues were grown folks business.
And finally, creepy!