August 5 — South of the Border
We began seeing the billboards at least a hundred miles out. “South of the Border” had it all, it seemed. Fun for the kids. Shopping. The most delicious Mexican cuisine. An observation platform. Old cars. Flamingos. Maybe even some adult entertainment for the lonely male traveller.
What was this place? We wondered. The appearance of a billboard every two miles suggested that the place was either truly the best thing south of North Carolina, or overcompensating for something.
If nothing else, I reasoned with Lauren, they would have churros, which makes it worth checking out.
The billboard countdown got lower, 15 miles…12…8…6…4…3…2…1! We took the exit and began our evaluation. The place seemed to have every desirable amenity — a restuaruant, ferris wheel, observation platform, laundromat, corner market, beach shop, arcade.
We decided to try the market first, coveniently labeled the Pantry. No dice. Just tacky shot glasses, tee shirts, and snacks you’ve probably never heard of for a reason. I looked lustfully across the street at the restuarant, avertising tacos, burgers, and chili cheese fries.
“No way!” Lauren said. “They definitely do not have churros.” She was laughing. The place was tacky, too tacky for her even, and she thought it was pathetic.
I wanted to give it one more chance, so we tried the beach store next door, which advertised a display for the biggest great white shark you’ve ever seen.
“Let’s go check out the shark,” I said.
In the store we asked the clerk if there were churros anywhere around this place. The woman scoffed. No, no churros here.
As if we should have known better.
We went to the back of the store and looked at the shark. The whole thing looked plastic to me. A sign said it had been caught, but I didn’t believe it. It must have been a joke, just like this entire place.
So long, Pedro, I thought. You got us. Suckered us in. Most motorists probably know better.
