On the way to Wyoming, I first noticed a “Hooked on Wall Drug” sign that featured a derpy bass.🐟 Derpy bass the omen. A few miles later, it was “Caught on Wall Drug” paired with another random visual. It didn’t stop there. Every 10 miles or so we’d see another sign.
Does it literally make you bounce off the wall? Is it an open drug party invite? (If so, the appeal may or may not have went up…)
Ah, the convenience of Google. Wall Drug Store, simply known as Wall Drug, was a tourist spot that tripled as a gift shop, an eatery, and of course, a drug store. It was an hour away. Talk about advertising for the long haul.
Also passed a sad little place called 1880. It was supposed to be like a “travel back in time to a land of cowboys and Indians” sort of thing. I’d say it was a good idea, except it’s located in the middle of farmlands. The only things that stood around were lonesome silhouettes.
The final countdown. EXIT NOW OR LOSE YOUR CHANCE FOREVER! To go into tourist hell or keep going on our way?
I’ve already invested too much time into the ads. Heck, why not. Let’s go!
All the parked license plates were from out-of-state. We weren’t even planning to get off of the car but Dad gave in at “handmade ice cream.” My hands were too full to take a photo of it, so here’s mashed potatoes instead:
I’m sorry for ruining your life.
Anyway, Wall Drug was gift shops on steroids. All of the stores were connected for an uninterrupted shopping experience. Most people looked like parents or traveling retirees. The cashiers spoke in African accents. I had to talk Mom out of buying dream weavers and racist shirts multiple times.