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Pastimes : Things That Amuse Me -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: mr.mark who wrote (943)	12/13/2000 4:39:46 PM
From: Gottfried	Respond to of 12669

mark, someone needing a conversation piece for entertaining could put this in the living room pushcarts.com G.

To: mr.mark who wrote (943)	12/13/2000 7:47:12 PM
From: Sarkie	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 12669

Send it along to Algore.

To: mr.mark who wrote (943)	12/14/2000 12:22:51 PM
From: PMS Witch	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 12669

I enjoyed your link with the vending carts. About a year ago, a group of amateur field naturalists (Fancy name for bird watchers) agreed to meet at a small pond a few miles from where I live. I needed to visit a banking machine, the nearest being in a village a couple of miles out of my way, but still much shorter than making a special trip. Who would’ve thought there’d be a line on a Tuesday morning? Anyway, I was a bit late, and decided to take a (shorter) back road to the pond. Not only was the distance less, I could really let fly, not worrying about traffic, cops, and stops. (There are stops, but like most rural drivers, I disregard them.) About a couple of miles from my destination, a guy had set up a hot-dog vending cart. This was in the middle of nowhere! I expect I was the only car on that road that morning. This was farm country. There was no business, school, neighbourhood, park, store, or anything else I could imagine that would attract people. I knew the area. I was really amused by his business sense. I arrived at the pond, and we enjoyed ourselves. Someone mentioned seeing some Long Eared Owls nearby and we decided to try our luck at finding them again. But – by this time, it was well after lunch time and we were all pretty hungry. Unfortunately, none had brought food, and we knew the closest fast food joint was ten miles away. We thought about trying the next day, but a few couldn’t make it. I thought about the hot-dog vendor and told the story. People looked at me with two expressions: She bumped her head; or she forgot her medication. I volunteered to drive for some food. The guy was still where I first saw him. He didn’t seem to understand a single word of English. I wanted a dozen to fifteen hot dogs, plus drinks. He only had eleven. (Must have eaten one himself) I wanted all eleven. I wrote the number eleven on a scrap of paper with a sketch of a hot-dog. His eyes bulged. I think he may have thought I wanted to rob him. (Apparently, middle aged, 120 pound women, are hot-dog vendors’ worst nightmare.) I took the food and all his drinks, paid the guy and left. I felt obligated to communicate with him somehow that my purchase was an unusual thing and that his location was not the best spot for maximum sales. I doubt the message registered. All he knew was his cart was completely empty and his wallet was full. I couldn’t help but think about this guy. He’d get home and tell his wife about his wonderful good fortune; how he sold all his stuff by early afternoon; and how he really knows how to run a business. I wished him well, but had my doubts. Anyway, I don’t travel this road much, so I didn’t see if he returned. The next time I drove down this road, a month or so later, he was gone. Cheers, PW. P.S. Vending hot dogs isn’t helped by wieners coming in packs of twelve while buns coming in eight.

To: mr.mark who wrote (943)	12/14/2000 4:06:58 PM
From: PMS Witch	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 12669

Popcorn vending wagons … Scrolling down the page, looking at images of popcorn vending machines brought me back to the 1950s. In our town, we had a guy who operated a popcorn machine just like those in your link. He’d be found in the evening very close to a busy White Rose gas station. When Father would stop for fuel, we’d never fail to let him know how much we’d like a bag of popcorn, and most times, this would work. The machine, as I remember it, had a big round pot-like contraption where the kernels would go. Beneath this, was a burner, with visible flames. As the corn popped, the lid on the container would eventually be forced up and the popped corn would spill out into the large glass enclosure. He kept a teapot full of melted butter in the corner with the corn. He used a metal scoop to fill bags, which he placed along the edge of the cart, just inside the door. When purchasing a bag of popcorn, he’d pour some butter over it from the teapot. He wasn’t particularly friendly, but we didn’t care. Long before we could eat the popcorn, the butter would soak through the bag. This would get on our clothes. Mother was never happy about this. We didn’t care. When through, we’d finish the meal by licking our fingers clean of any remaining butter or salt. On exceptionally fortunate days, we’d stop for a chocolate milk too. Not only did the images in the link you posted bring memories of these machines, it also brought memories of the most delightful part of being a kid – your parents are still alive. Cheers, PW.

To: mr.mark who wrote (943)	12/14/2000 6:59:30 PM
From: PMS Witch	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 12669

Yet another vending cart story --- my last, I promise… The ice-cream carts brought back memories of a visit to Grenada, Nicaragua, last winter. The bus was running late and it was obvious I was not getting anything to eat for a few hours, and I was starving. I was in the centre of town, near an open green-space, surrounded by buildings, none of which looked like a place that sells food. Then a guy with an ice-cream cart came by. I waved at him, and he came to the curb. He only spoke Spanish. My comprehension of Spanish is below my fluency in Martian. I pointed to a picture of a chocolate covered ice-cream bar on a stick and waved a U.S. $1 bill. This he understood! These bars sell for 30-50 cents at home. I wolfed that bar down like I’ve never seen food before, I was starved! I realised one bar wouldn’t be enough, so I decided to get another. Meanwhile, the guy had disappeared. Fortunately, I saw another vendor, and tried the same transaction with him as with the first. It worked again. What I didn’t know, was that my actions were being monitored. The second guy was simply the fastest of a crowd of ice-cream cart pilots. I found myself surrounded by ice-cream carts, and every one of them were driven by guys who felt the keys to success in this business was to ring their bells incessantly. The noise and commotion was driving me nuts. They also believed that if one doesn’t comprehend spoken Spanish, shouted Spanish will be understood. I ran into a church to escape. Sitting in a rear pew, I could hear the sound of bells fading in the distance. In the church, a very young man came down the aisle with what looked like those little nets used to capture goldfish in a pet store, only with a ten foot handle. He stopped at my pew and reached out to me with the net. He was after a contribution. By this time, I’ve exhausted my supply of U.S. $1, so I gave him $5. The church collectors must drive ice-cream carts too, or learned from the same teacher, because in an instant, I saw two more ‘net boys’ coming. Normally, I would’ve hid behind The Commander, but he had found a local wood-worker and wanted to acquire what seemed to be the entire inventory. For this, he spent all his cash, and nearly all of mine, leaving me in danger of totally running out if I kept contributing to the locals at the current rate. Anyway, he was rushing headlong into buying more than he could carry, and I had no desire to spend the afternoon strolling around carrying an armload of tourist treasure. I joined a group of familiar faces we were travelling with and waited for the bus. The ice-cream vendors had thinned their ranks somewhat, but a few persistent fellows remained. I was wearing a reversible hat, and had turned it inside out, changing it from red to blue. I think this worked. By the time the bus arrived, they were almost gone. I would’ve liked another bar, but having both ran out of $1 bills, and not having what it took to face the music again, I sank into my seat, pulled my hat over my eyes. The Commander woke me up at the next stop. Cheers, PW.