Worst Vacation Ever

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Carrie Kuhn 8th Period
Worst Vacation Ever The car peeled off the interstate, and on to a four laned road. I could tell right away this vacation would be worse than I thought it would be. But what can you expect from a cabin in family-friendly Gattlinburg, Tennessee.

Everywhere you looked, you could find a run down, color faded themed mini golf park. You could see at least three original fudge shops a block away. I am not exaggerating when I say we drove past ninety five pancake houses, complete with eight feet tall lumber jacks equipped with giant bottles of syrup. My family’s car lulled down the road past wax figure museums and restraunts while my sisters ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at all the attractions. I just rolled my eyes as we passed yet another billboard for the Dixie Stampede.

The car door slammed shut as I started walking towards the only grocery store in town with my mom. The Food Mart looked like its last renovation was done a forever ago, and had barely viable sliding doors. I walked across the dingy tile flooring as my mom rambled off our grocery list for the cabin we were renting for the week. “You go grab some tortilla chips and salsa and meet me back here,” she instructed and I nodded and shuffled to the chip aisle. After passing shelves full of off brand expired bags of chips, I found a reasonable looking bag and went off to search for salsa. Two. That’s the number of choices of salsa this somnolent dirty store had. Two. I guess maybe that’s not as ridiculous to someone who lived here in Tennessee, but I just drove eighteen hours from Texas where salsa is as important as water. I grabbed a jar...
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