The year was 1989. My brother and I were on a road trip up I-95 from our family home in Charleston, South Carolina, to Virginia. On a whim, we stopped at South Of The Border to check out the fireworks and grab a bite to eat. I remember laughing about how bad the food was, but little did I know how those lighthearted moments in the cafe’ would come back to haunt us. Before we reached home, I’d pulled off the highway a half-dozen times for my brother to leave his “food” behind.
My son had heard the tale many times, so when I pulled the off the interstate he was surprised. In his almost 11 years of life, he’d passed by SOTB countless times, and we’d never dared to stop. Until today. “Actually, it wasn’t that bad,” he says. “It was real warm, and there were pigeons hanging around looking for scraps. The characters were very fluorescent and kind of cool.”
We had a quick walk and a photo shoot, but for the life of me I couldn’t convince him to even get an ice cream cone. I guess it’s better that way…I may never eat at SOTB again, but I can always admire it in photographs.