Dear Guy Selling Hotdogs Outside My Local Home Improvement Center,

Hey man, what’s going on? I mean seriously, it’s not even 9 a.m. on a Sunday morning, and you’re already pimping your goods. You are one dedicated hot dog vendor.

See, the vendors downtown are on some other stuff. They’re lazy compared to you. They must have been the C students in the Wiener Academy because they don’t even bother to start setting up shop until at least 10 o’clock. And that’s on a weekday! Not you, though. No way. You’re out here, *hard* *core*, peddling foot longs when those other fools are sleeping. Cha-ching!

You’ve really figured it out, haven’t you? You’re one of those secret diabolical genius mofos that everyone thinks is just pullin’ a cart for a living, but really you’re making bank. Right? I mean who else would have thought that suburban Americans with too much expendable income would crave processed pig toenails while shopping for paint stirrers on a Sunday morning? Brilliant! Wow, I would have never thought to tap that goldmine demographic. But it must work because people go batsh*t crazy for your hotdogs, bro. Even at 9 a.m. I don’t get it, but it works. Just look at that line!

I really need to take a lesson from you, ya know? I mean here I am shopping for screws and I’m spending money, not making some! I should be up on this game. I need a piece of this action. I was thinking…maybe we could hang out sometime, grab a beer or something, and you could teach me your secret. Like a Jedi and master. Or kung-fu hero and young grasshopper, ya know? I need to figure out my game plan. I could sell stuff out of the back of my truck for awhile, until I could afford a cart or kiosk or something else that looks super official. Burgers? No, too unoriginal? Flan? No, too weird. What about those lemon ice things? Everyone likes them, right?

I dunno, hot dog dude. I just saw you the other day and you inspired me, like Nancy Kerrigan or whatever. I really think we should hang out some time and just kick it. Maybe there’s a hot dog vendor convention we could go to, or perhaps we could just walk around downtown and make fun of the ineptitude of the other vendors or something. Think about it and hit me up on my cell. You’re on to something though, man. For real. Don’t let that assclown who just bought the Rice Field Dream colored paint tell you otherwise.

Sincerely,
Brian