I remember pulling into South of the Border as a poor kid. Even then, through the eyes of a poor preteen, it was clearly a dump.
Drove by it for the first time in decades last month on my way to Parris Island to pick up my new Marine. It was nearly empty of cars. It should be bulldozed.
Flying the F15E from Seymour Johnson AFB, the sombrero was a great radar target where we could mark it for practice attacks during night sorties.
After a while South of the Border became such a trashy mess that it was no longer a viable well defined target.
The excitement built with every passing roadsign.
“We have to stop there,” I told the kids. “Everyone says you shouldn’t miss it.”
And then, finally, we arrived at South of the Border.
A momentary silence filled the car, until one of my kids said, “This is it?”
(True story.)