Where the Subject of the Previous Post Stays When She's Passing Through Hollister

Another item from the ever-growing backlog of things deserving an appearance on the Cereal Box, the Cinderella Motel is an establishment offering rooms at modest prices to travelers making their way through my hometown, Hollister.

Like many things in Hollister, the Cinderella Motel sucks, or so I’d imagine. I’ve actually never been there. Having lived the first eighteen years of my life in that diseased mule of a town, I’ve never had a reason for a stay at the Cinderella. However, I have to give it credit for being the girliest, most gaudily fancy thing in a tri-county area full of conservative Catholics who shun anything that strays from their world of trucks, agribusiness and KTOM.

I snapped some photos of the Cinderella Motel the last time I was home. I had been meaning to do so for some time now.

Nighttime photography really helps to showcase the Cinderella’s flashy neon sign and its ornate carriage sculpture made from Christmas lights. You can’t tell that the building is also painted bright pink, so please take my word for it. (Also, I was as shocked as anybody when I was searching around on Flickr and found two other people who also have photographed this marvel — this guy and this guy.)

I don’t know why anybody ever though this was a good idea for a motel anywhere, much less one in Hollister. Personally, I’ve always thought of the kind of place where little girly girls go to score illegal femininity injections to make themselves girlier. Anyone who can confirm my suspicions will be handsomely rewarded.

The illegal femininity injections, of course, smell like strawberries.