The story that explains why I don’t want to go back

merfam via Flickr

I went to Gatlinburg once. I sat in a pancake house parking lot for ten minutes, waiting for a guy in his truck to leave. The lot was full. My blinker was on. The guy kept sitting in his truck.

Another man at the other end of the lot flagged me down and waved me ahead, ostensibly pointing me to an open spot around the corner that I couldn’t see. I pulled forward and turned the corner. There was no parking spot. The man started laughing as the guy in the truck left. The laughing man’s buddy, who was in the car behind me, took the parking spot I’d been waiting for.

I hate Gatlinburg.