The time: Year and a half ago.
The place: Adairsville, Ga.
Outcome: You know what? I'm not going to feel bad about this one anymore.
Not worth the price of admission.
There is a place in Chattanooga, Tennessee called Rock City.
Approximately 900 barns in the midwest and southeast U.S have been painted with advertisements beckoning people to see for themselves the glorious wonders of Rock City.
|Seven states and they're hinting that it's the best thing ever?? |
Young and bored, the decision to make the hour drive into Chattanooga was an easy one.
The barns had promised fantastic sights, and we eagerly anticipated experiencing the amazing Rock City for ourselves.
However, upon entering the park we were overwhelmed with the creepy trying-to-be-Disney-but-can't-quite-pull-it-off-because-of-low-production-quality vibes.
|All this, but with a scratchy "fairytale" soundtrack playing.|
|Abandon hope all ye who enter here.|
|Legend has it that the souls of lost children are trapped within the figurines.|
On Monday, myself and a co-worker were driving around together supervising. Let's call him "Chip".
Inevitably, Chip asks the obligatory "do anything fun this weekend?" question. And naturally I launch into a witty monologue, lampooning every ridiculous aspect about Rock City I could think of. The deer park with no deer, creepy dwarves, and chintzy exhibits. Nothing was safe.
|Seriously, where are all the deer?|
"Yeah. In fact, I proposed to my wife there."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah, she loved it."
"Well, you probably did it in a quiet romantic spot or something, huh?"
"Nope, I got down on one knee on top of Look-Out Mountain. There was a pretty good crowd of people."
"Wow. Well, um, I guess whatever makes her happy."
|Ugh. I suck.|