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An ode to 7-11

An ode to 7-11

Farewell to the convenience store that was always there for us

If you have not noticed by now, 7-11 is closed. Indefinitely.

As a result, the heart of every rebellious eighth grader, designated driver, and local stoner now lays in anguish.

It’s a tragedy…I guess. 7-11 may not have a special place in our hearts, but our memories with the not-so-beloved foreclosed gas station will sadly be cherished in our minds with both acquiescence and indifference.

We mourn as we remember those days of having existential debates with that former friend we met in the first year while munching on a week old corn dog in the back of a parking lot.

We will miss the cold, chemically enhanced sugary abomination known as the Slurpee — the drink that brought joy to our adolescent hearts and diabetes to our pancreases.

On the Friday’s when you got plastered at OC’s and couldn’t find a ride to McDonald’s at 2:46 a.m. — who was there to satisfy your drunk cravings? — 7-11 was there, with deep fried unhealthy goodness.

We will never forget the night that 7-11 was taken hostage by a gunman. ‘Cause even in Camrose, where nothing really happens, you kinda know deep down that if it did, it would happen at 7-11.

Regardless of whether it was a public health hazard or not, 7-11 has cursed us with a sense of nostalgia that we never asked for or desired to have. But much like camp, it is a place that has toughened us mentally. It is a place where we shared memories with people we wished we had never met.

A place that with its cold, unsavoury and creepy exterior has always welcomed us if we had cash and warmed our hearts by providing us with a watered down coffee.

7-11 made us stronger. We will miss its Slurpees, its convenience, its shitty food and most of all, the ever so worthless Big Bucks.

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