Wilco Hess

I’ll start with the positive about this place. The gas pumps have gas in about half of them.
I’m not sure if it’s a local hang out or something but more than one person was blaring their bass so loud as they gassed up that the Grand Am at the pump beside us almost lost a muffler and a host of bolts. Random people were driving up and around in vehicles not fit for the road and yacking at each other in inaudible dialects.
Enter the ladies room, and God forbid you have to, especially with a baby as I did. No changing table is present but you can consider the floor which has a layer of filth and liquid about an inch and a half deep. The toilet looks like it houses some sea creature from another world and, if I couldn’t get out of there fast enough, I of course had to wash my hands.
The soap dispenser had a tampon and its wrapper jammed up inside of it which almost made me vomit in the sink but I forced back the heaves because the sink might have been a place where someone had previously given birth. It was so nasty. If that wasn’t bad enough, it looked like someone ran out of toilet paper once and wiped their poop-​covered hands all over the mirror when they saw the soap and sink fiasco.
This place needs a bleach bomb. My advice to you is keep driving for gas and use one of the local fields for your latrine. Even with the sand spurs and snakes, I would say you’re better off.