Hot Diggity Dog!

In this city, I never find myself at a loss for reasons to write off the human race as a nice idea whose time has passed.  The other day, I found another in a long series of examples when I stopped by a hot dog cart for a quick “meal.”  Surprisingly, my ire was not raised by contemplating the origins of the wares I was being served, something I learned to avoid long ago, but from one of my fellow patrons.

For my own part in this story, I simply ordered a hot dog, gave the vendor my money, then moved a few feet away to enjoy my logic-defyingly delicious treat before dashing off to the subway.  But about halfway through the perfectly boiled processed meat tube, I heard the guy who was standing behind me begin to berate the hot dog vendor.  I turned my attention back to the scene to see what the fuss was all about, and the hullabaloo seemed to have stemmed from the corner of the vendor’s hand sneaking around the corner of the paper and touching the man’s soon-to-be bun.

The man was livid.  “You should really be wearing gloves if you’re going to be touching my food,” he barked.  “Where is your license?”

I really wanted to turn to him and say, “you do realize that you’re basically eating intestinal scraps from the street, right? Is unwashed human flesh really a bigger health concern the the ground up hog anus you’re paying for?”  Let’s be realistic.  As much as we’d like to believe that we’re living in a sanitary society, I can guarantee that within the last two hours a homeless guy had pissed where he was standing and a pigeon has shit on this otherwise immaculate food preparation station.  This guy can put on gloves, he can wash his hands until the cows come home, and it’s not going to change the fact that he’s just a steam tray away from serving you out of a dumpster.

I like to think that the food poisoning came from my disgust with this scene rather any fecal matter that might have been on the vendor’s hands.

-TC