There’s nothing quite like a fall drive to cleanse the soul. You know, the kind where you roll down the windows, crank up some nostalgic tunes, and soak in the autumn vibes with the scent of fresh hay and crisp leaves in the air. I used to do this a lot as a teenager, back when gas was cheaper, my car was a rust bucket, and Dollar Generals were, well… an occasional convenience instead of the dominant life form of rural Illinois.

I set out on my leisurely drive the other day, hoping to relive some of that youthful bliss. Back then, you could fill up your tank without taking out a small loan, and your biggest worry was whether the tape deck would eat your mix of Nirvana and Pearl Jam. So, here I was, ready for a soul-refreshing journey through the countryside.

I drove past a cornfield. Then another cornfield. Ah, nature. The simple life. A sense of serenity washed over me. But just as I was easing into my nostalgic moment, I saw it—a Dollar General, glowing like a black-and-yellow beacon of capitalism in the middle of nowhere.

“Okay,” I thought. “It’s fine, just one Dollar General.” I mean, sure, it was smack in the middle of a field where the only other visible signs of life were some cows and a silo, but whatever.

I kept driving, determined to find some fall magic. Five minutes later, there it was again. Another one. I blinked in disbelief, half-expecting to see tumbleweeds or barns, but nope—Dollar General #2, sitting like a misplaced Monopoly piece on the edge of town.

At this point, I was starting to feel less “zen drive through the countryside” and more “targeted by a low-budget retail chain.” I thought I’d shake it off, but guess what was just around the next curve? Yep, Dollar General #3. I swear, I started feeling like they were multiplying right before my eyes, like some kind of corporate gremlins that thrive on rural solitude and your need for discount cleaning supplies.

It’s like the towns here aren’t even named anymore. Forget signs for “Welcome to Hometown, IL”—the signposts might as well say “Welcome to Dollar Generalville, Population: 350.”

At this point, my drive down memory lane had taken a detour into a dystopian landscape where every winding road leads to another Dollar General. The beautiful foliage? Dwarfed by the towering signs advertising $1 cans of soup and seasonal plastic pumpkins.

It made me nostalgic for the days when a drive out here meant something simple, something pure. Back when gas was a dollar a gallon and the only chain store you passed was the occasional mom-and-pop gas station. You could actually lose yourself in the quiet stillness of the backroads, not be bombarded with the reality that convenience stores apparently now outnumber actual people in these towns.

I guess what I’m saying is, while my soul might’ve been searching for peace and autumnal beauty, what it found was a field of Dollar Generals. There’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere, but I’ll leave that for someone else to figure out. As for me, I’ll just keep driving, maybe stop in for some cheap snacks… at whichever one of the five Dollar Generals I pass next.