Locals Say Progress Is Fine, Just Not In a Way That Changes Anything

By Tom Seest

At Sequatchie Crossing, we tell the stories of Sequatchie Crossing.

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🎤 Audio Overview

I. The Announcement That Shook the Bulletin Board

On an otherwise forgettable Tuesday morning, a laminated flyer appeared on the corkboard outside Town Hall. Sandwiched between a lost ferret notice and a recipe for cucumber Jell-O casserole, the flyer announced the proposed arrival of “Pit Boss Plaza: A Full-Service Road Warrior Experience™.”

According to the glossy one-sheet—which had clearly not been mimeographed locally—Pit Boss Plaza would include 42 gas pumps, 12 diesel lanes, 5 fast-food franchises, a 200-slot campground, an “authentic Tennessee gift barn,” and something called a “Wi-Fi Oasis™.”

Sequatchie Crossing hadn’t even agreed on whether the town should have a Starbucks. And now it was looking down the diesel-scented barrel of a suburban rest stop dystopia.

Boot Barnes was the first to read it and say what everyone was thinking:

“This here’s the kind of thing you’d see off I-40. We’re not even an ‘I’ anything.”

II. The Meeting Heard Around the Parking Lot

That Friday, a town meeting was held in the Fellowship Hall, but attendance quickly spilled out to the parking lot and down the sidewalk in front of Evelyn’s Oils & Oddities. Evelyn set up a pop-up booth anyway, offering stress relief aromatherapy with a sign that read: “For What’s Coming.”

Clovis Strickland brought diagrams. Mabel Dean brought a lawn chair and three casseroles “just in case.” Pastor Peeler opened with a prayer asking for “clarity, compassion, and at least one working left-turn lane if this madness proceeds.”

The developer, a man named Trent with a Bluetooth earpiece and an expression best described as “sincerely condescending,” tried to explain the economic benefits.

“Jobs, tax revenue, tourism—it’s a win-win,” Trent said, gesturing to a PowerPoint that refused to sync with the church projector and instead displayed a slideshow from someone’s Fourth of July picnic.

Boot stood and asked, “Have you ever seen what happens when Kenny Joe tries to parallel park his bass boat in front of the Dollar General? Now imagine 200 semis trying to buy Arby’s at once.”

Applause.

III. The Great Divider

The town divided into factions, as is tradition:

• The Old Guard, led by Mabel Dean, who believed this would spell doom for local charm and perhaps herald the Antichrist.

• The New Blood, mostly newer residents with yoga mats and Wi-Fi routers, who saw it as an “opportunity to rebrand the town for the 21st century.”

• The Waffle Fence, led by Boot Barnes, who didn’t like it but felt morally compelled to sample every proposed food option just to be sure.

Alyssa Crenshaw created a petition with the heading “Stop the Stop.” It got 872 signatures, including one from Terrance the Goat (a hoofprint, legally dubious). In response, Brett Landon formed a counter-petition titled “Truckers Have Feelings Too,” which received 19 signatures, all from people with CB radio handles.

IV. Traffic Studies and Emotional Collisions

A traffic study commissioned by Trent’s firm projected only a “marginal increase in peak-hour congestion.”

Clovis challenged that by releasing live drone footage of the current morning chaos at the town’s one blinking light. The video featured:

• Kenny Joe nearly T-boning a chicken truck

• Sister Lila Mae waving a tambourine at a four-wheeler for cutting off her Prius

• Chester Ray directing traffic with a leaf blower and a kazoo

The town gasped. The kazoo was new.

Boot muttered, “Marginal, my casserole.”

V. Creative Resistance

As formal channels failed, Sequatchie Crossing did what it always does: got weird.

• Evelyn began selling oils labeled “Diesel Repellent” and “Capitalist Cleanse.”

• The Ladies’ Auxiliary knit a protest quilt with images of local businesses being eaten by gas pumps.

• Mabel Dean staged a one-woman play in front of the Planning Commission titled “One Pump Too Many,” which involved interpretive dance and a slow-burning pan of biscuits.

Meanwhile, a prankster (presumed Clovis) installed a homemade sign on the proposed property that read:
“Future Site of Sequatchie Crossing’s First Corporate Overlord.”

It became a selfie destination.

VI. The Developer’s Reversal, or Something Like It

Facing growing resistance, poor PR, and having lost his Bluetooth headset in a bowl of Evelyn’s tension-melting bath salts, Trent returned to Town Hall with a new pitch: a “scaled-down” version of Pit Boss Plaza. It would include:

• Just 24 pumps

• A single Arby’s

• One spiritual retreat yurt for “truck driver renewal”

The town was unmoved.

Clovis suggested a compromise: “We let them build it, but only if they agree to paint everything barn red, use hand-lettered signs, and host an annual goat show judged by Terrance.”

Trent blinked twice and asked, “What’s a Terrance?”

VII. Resolution, Sequatchie Style

In the end, the County Zoning Board declared the application “under further study,” which in Sequatchie Crossing means it’ll be forgotten until someone needs a reason to restart an old argument.

Boot Barnes returned to testing muffin options at the Fellowship Hall. Evelyn doubled down on her anti-chain scented candles. Clovis began researching how to register Terrance as a historic landmark.

And on the corkboard, where the Pit Boss flyer once hung, there now resides a hand-drawn poster reading:

“Locally-Owned Is Lovingly Known.”
Underneath, in smaller writing:
“Now Hiring Sign Designers With Better Rhymes.”

🛑 Disclaimer

The events described in this Dispatch are, as always, mostly untrue but deeply accurate. While no actual Pit Boss Plaza has (yet) attempted to infiltrate Sequatchie Crossing, the emotional damage caused by speculative development, unsolicited Bluetooth headsets, and rogue traffic studies is very real.

No goats were harmed, though Terrance was briefly consulted as a zoning expert and has since demanded a raise in the form of seasonal apples.

Any resemblance to real mega gas stations, mega plans, or mega egos is purely coincidental, except when it’s not.

Sequatchie Crossing continues to prefer its progress slow, scenic, and served with sweet tea in a jar your grandmother kept buttons in.