Discount Stores in Burnsville, NC

“The store over here in newdale is always stopped the people in there very courteous friendly I can get in there and get out with what I need no problems too bad the Spruce Pine stores aren't like that the one up near Hardee's in Spruce Pine is okay but the one on grassy Creek needs a manager that knows what he's doing!!! ?”

“Decent store. Has just about anything you might need in a hurry that you can't get to Walmart for. Sometimes a bit disorganized, so don't commit item locations to memory as they are often rearranging the store.”

“Once again I inexplicably find myself standing at the entrance of Rose's Discount Store, a place where the cosmic debris of consumerism has coalesced into a chaotic symphony of oddities. The air smells faintly of nostalgia and desperation, like a forgotten mixtape left in the glove compartment of a '92 Ford Taurus.*Rose's, oh Rose's, you enigmatic purveyor of the mundane and the absurd. Your flickering fluorescent lights beckon weary souls, promising bargains and surprises. But what awaits us inside? A treasure trove or a fool's errand? Only time will tell.I step over the threshold, and immediately, my senses are assaulted. The linoleum floor, worn thin by countless footsteps, creaks under my weight. The shelves sag with the weight of their eclectic cargo: plastic dinosaurs, expired cough syrup, and a mismatched collection of socks that seem to have lost their way in the fabric of reality.The snack aisle is a carnival of contradictions. Here, a bag of flaming hot Cheetos rubs elbows with a dusty box of elderberry tea. And what's this? Pickled okra sharing shelf space with bubblegum-flavored toothpaste? It's as if the universe itself has thrown up its hands and said, "Why not?"Prices? Ah, the prices. They defy logic, like a drunken game of hopscotch played on a Möbius strip. A plastic kazoo—a relic of forgotten childhoods—sits next to a miniature Eiffel Tower. Both priced at **$3.14**. Why? Because Rose's knows that life is a cosmic joke, and we're all just trying to find the punchline.And the soundtrack! Oh, the soundtrack. As I wander the aisles, I half-expect **Limp Bizkit** to burst forth from the ceiling tiles, belting out "Rollin'." The flickering fluorescent lights would sway in rhythm, and the checkout lady would raise an eyebrow, scanning my items with the precision of a blackjack dealer.But alas, Limp Bizkit remains silent. Perhaps they're waiting for the cosmic alignment—the moment when the Twinkies align with the batteries, and the plastic forks form a perfect pentagram. Only then will the parking lot stage be set, and Fred Durst himself will emerge, clad in a tattered flannel shirt, ready to rock our souls.And so, dear Rose's, I salute you. You are not just a store; you are a **portal**. A place where the mundane and the magical collide, where the banal becomes sublime. As I exit, clutching my scented candles and a broken slinky, I can't help but wonder: Is this chaos or destiny? Perhaps both.Who among us hasn't appreciated your absurdity, Rose's. May your flickering lights guide us lost souls forevermore.???”