Reader Mail: Gripes about Hoboken
One Hoboken411 reader sent in this list of 5 things he hates about Hoboken. A bunch of them had to do with grocery stores…
What do you think of his list?
Things I hate about Hoboken
- Getting into a Hoboken taxi, where multiple strangers are jammed in with you. Not so long ago they mayor said he’d stop this and for a short while there was even someone with a red jacket controlling the taxis line to stop this happening. What we should do is organize ourselves into groups of 3 or 4 then all get in together and tell the taxi to take you to a single destination. That way only one person needs to pay the $5 fare.
- Buying cold cuts from the local deli. None of the assistants ever wear plastic gloves. They start slicing the meat/cheese – carefully grabbing each slice with their bare hands, before they lay in down. And often in the middle, they break off to answer the phone. At least at the A&P the assistants wear disposable plastic gloves, and don’t take phone orders..
- Buying groceries from any of the local stores. They never give you an itemized receipt, and mumble something incomprehensible as they quickly ring up the items. Then at the end present you with a bill for xx dollars, with no way of checking it. On the rare occasion I’ve seen someone challenge the bill, the assistant indubitably offers to reduce it by a few dollars.
- Having to drink milk that would be out of date were it to be sold in New York. New Jersey sell by date = Oct 30, NYC sell by date = Oct 27. Why does my milk have to be 3 days older than is allowable for New Yorkers ?
- The endless parade of drunks staggering past my bedroom window at 3 – 4 am on Saturday and Sunday mornings (and why do they all suddenly discover they can sing…). The addition of a 25 cents local beer tax would go a long way towards eliminating the Hoboken budget deficit. That way we could all drink our way out of the crises. And if by some unlikely maths, the budget still doesn’t balance – at least we’d all be to pissed to care about it. (pardon my French…)