At one point I thought it would be funny to go to Roswell. Not because I think aliens have crashed here (I don’t), but because I wanted to see the kind of people who go to Roswell. I’m not sure it was a good used of my time to spend nine hours in the car ironically.
Everything on the town is alien themed. It’s kind of funny at quirky at first but it wears thin in a hurry. Like, I get it. If aliens landed and needed car insurance they’d talk to you, Duane.
Even the Walmart is alien themed. I stopped by to pick up a computer part I needed and some local teens correctly identified us as tourists and were making fun of us for visiting, which is an interesting flex when you think about it.
As I told them “Yeah, it’s a dump, but what’s funny is I’m going home tomorrow and you’ll still be here.”
I went into one souvenir store to see if there was some funny kitsch to buy, and there was a biker there who had driven from North Dakota on a mission to find the truth. Dude was peppering the shopkeeper with questions like he was gonna get to the bottom of the whole thing.
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