Four women, one car: A road trip to Pine Bluff

If losing $60 at the casino, spending $124 at “Dirty Dillard’s” and dropping another $60 at the dispensary qualifies as a bust, then yes, technically, our wallets had a rough day.

But Pine Bluff? Pine Bluff delivered. 

There was a giant retro orange, good ice, deeply discounted clothing, casino lights, sounds and smells, an unexpected lesson in terpenes and one person smugly returning home with enough winnings to cover lunch and shopping. Let’s break it down. 

Like most girls’ trips, this one began in a group text. Me: I want to go to Dirty Dillard’s, and we can eat at that place that’s in the weird orange building — Mammoth Orange. Not the hairy prehistoric one. The burger one. 

Several message dings later, we chose a date and formed a plan. 

Four women. One car. Twenty bucks for gas. A loosely planned itinerary and absolutely no shared understanding of what constituted an appropriate shopping or casino budget. 

More than burgers

Our first stop wasn’t technically in Pine Bluff at all. Mammoth Orange sits along Arkansas Highway 365 in Redfield, where it has been serving burgers, ice cream and other diner essentials since 1966. 

A little research revealed that the delightfully odd building is an example of “midcentury roadside novelty architecture.” Apparently, the late Ernestine Bradshaw opened the place, inspired by a California restaurant chain, and operated it until her death in 2007. 

The shape of the diner isn’t the only thing we found odd. The parking lot seems to run largely on instinct, or on a set of rules we weren’t privy to. Operating with neither, we circled the building and eventually pulled into a “spot” someone else was leaving. 

On this day’s visit, it was much too hot to inquire about sitting on one of the bolted-down metal stools outside the building and ordering through the window. Instead, we entered the restaurant with all the subtlety of four women who had already spent the drive from Little Rock making jokes and talking loudly about the deals we were going to find and the luck that would befall us. 

Learn a lesson from us if you’d rather not have a room of dining patrons stare at you like an orange hunter in a snowy field: You do not have to stand just inside the door and debate whether you order at the counter or take a seat. You take a seat, and someone will be with you shortly. 

Eventually, we chose a booth under a painting of the building itself by Little Rock artist John Kushmaul, along with several handwritten, framed recipes and a giant fork and spoon. 

A kind young woman took our drink orders and returned with big cups of tea and soda filled with that good ice. You know. 

The menu offers much to discuss. Want to add a single chicken tender to your meal? Not a problem at Mammoth Orange; you can have one for $1.99. Not that hungry, or the building has you feeling nostalgic? You can order a PB&J for $2.49. 

I ordered a cheeseburger and onion rings, a decision that would stay with me for the rest of the day in the form of aggressive heartburn. Around the table, we assembled a respectable survey of fryer fare: tater tots, fried okra, corn nuggets. A patty melt and two more burgers were ordered for good measure. 

Final verdict? These people know their way around hot grease. 

Fortified by fried food, we paid the bill at the counter and loaded back into the car. Pulling back onto the road, one motorist offered a one-finger review of my stop-sign technique. For the record, sir, I stopped completely. 

Next up was the trip’s original inspiration: “Dirty Dillard’s.” It’s worth noting that this is an affectionate nickname, not a health department finding. 

The last of the mall

Pulling into the parking lot of The Pines, an abandoned shopping mall, feels a little like stumbling onto the set of “The Last of Us.” It’s a visual of expansive, overgrown, weedy pavement, empty storefronts and the eerie quiet of a place that was once a major shopping destination filled with cars and people. 

In a corner space, attached to the otherwise empty mall, Dillard’s has somehow carried on. Today, the store is a Dillard’s Clearance Center — the only one in Arkansas — luring and welcoming shoppers with the promise of deep markdowns. 

This is not a place where you walk in with a curated list and expect to find everything in your size and color. Instead, it feels a little like retail roulette. You dig, you circle. As you walk the vast store, you ruminate on fabrics, sleeve styles, pant lengths. You reconsider styles you rejected years ago. You begin saying things like, “It’s only $11,” as though that automatically means the item belongs in your home.

Then you look at the snaking dressing room line and face a major choice: become ruthlessly selective or very laissez-faire about fit. This means either half the clothes you spent considerable time accumulating go back, or you decide you’re really good at eyeballing your size. 

There are no returns at Dirty Dillard’s.

Me? I opted to go conservative. My final damage was $124. The haul? Black vest, toile button-up shirt, comfy shorts and a pair of socks.

Not much of a gambler

From Dillard’s, we headed to Saracen Casino Resort, where each of us approached gambling with different combinations of technique and confidence. Our results vouch for none of our approaches. Seeking out the “Wheel of Fortune” game or betting the maximum proved to be equally ineffective strategies. 

The casino was much less smoky than we expected, and we were delighted to be graced with what has to be the joint’s undisputed style icon — a sharply dressed older gentleman in a tailored red suit, cruising through the casino on his Scootaround while smoking a giant cigar. We could only wish to be that cool.

The day’s lone winner searched out a machine similar to one she had played in New Orleans with luck — it was one featuring a particularly obnoxious, laughing Buddha. Maybe habit and superstition do pay off? 

With most of us a little lighter in the pocket, we decided enough was enough and that it was time to make our last stop before heading back to the Rock.

Higher education 

Here’s the thing: Every time I step into a dispensary, a slightly giddy smile creeps across my face. In my mind, I am walking into an adult version of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory where all the chocolate is cannabis, Oompa Loompas are budtenders, and I’m Veruca Salt wanting it ALL. 

We chose High Bank Cannabis Co. in Pine Bluff for one reason: Its font was cooler than the other dispensaries in town. Sometimes decision-making really is that simple. 

Because it was our first visit, we received sweet welcome packages containing a cannabis journal, a T-shirt and information about terpenes. Educational and free — now we were finally winning. 

Next came the fun part: checking out all the options. A bit overwhelming, but thankfully the budtenders know their stuff. High on my priority list was finding gummies similar to the ones I purchased in California. Lo and behold, they had more options than I knew what to do with. 

After receiving expert recommendations from the Oompa Loompa, I walked out with four different kinds: The Source Island Time; The Source Kiwi Lime Pie; Bold Lemon; and Bold Pineapple Downside Upcake. 

Then came the best news of the day: New customers get a discount! 

“I’ll take one more bag of those Island Times, please.” 

Five bags and 60 bucks later, my evening plans were officially set: gummies, my stories and a curated variety of snacks with a side of Tums. Forget the casino. This is what hitting the jackpot looks like. 

Pine Bluff wasn’t a bust. It was a bargain-priced, heartburn-inducing, terpene-infused success. What more could four women and one car ask for on a Saturday?