Believe it or not, I have two stories to share about corn dogs. One occurred about a month ago; the other occurred last week.

Haggling Over Hot Dogs

The geeks have been getting together to play Dungeons and Dragons again lately. I can remember playing D&D with Dave when we were in grade school and junior high. Now, 30 years later, we’re doing it again. Last month, we met at Dave and Karen’s.

On my way over, I stopped at the minimart near their house to pick up something for dinner. As I was trying to decide what to buy, a man and a woman came into the store. I couldn’t tell their relationship exactly, but he seemed like her father. She waited by the hot-food case while he picked up a beer.

“How much are them corn dogs?” the woman asked while her companion selected his beverage. She had a southern accent.

“Seventy-nine cents,” said the shopkeeper.

“Seventy-nine cents,” said the woman. “Seventy-nine cents. How ’bout you give me two fo’ a dollah?”

“Seventy-nine cents,” said the shopkeeper.

“Yeah, but that’s the price during the day,” said the woman. “It’s late. You ain’t gonna sell those. How ’bout you give ’em to me two fo’ a dollah.”

The shopkeeper didn’t say anything. I picked up a bag of chips and a bottle of soda while I listened them haggle.

“You cain’t give me two corndogs for a dollah?” asked the woman. “Come on, now. You know you kin do it. If you give me two fo’ a dollah, I’ll buy ’em. But I ain’t buying nuttin’ fo’ seventy-nine cents. Whaddya say?”

“Seventy-nine cents,” said the shopkeeper.

“How come you cain’t do it? The woman that work here, she’d do it. You know she would. Two fo’ a dollah. That’s better than lettin’ ’em go to waste, dontcha think?”

The old man came up to the counter to pay for his beer. The woman turned to look at me — I was next in line. “Whaddya think of the weather?” she asked. “Hot, ain’t it?”

“It’s not too bad,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said. “But it’s muggy.” It wasn’t really that hot or muggy, but I just nodded and smiled.

The shopkeeper took the old man’s money and handed him his change. The old man picked up his beer, but then he paused. “Hold on,” he said. “I want wunna them corn dogs.”

“Seventy-nine cents,” said the shopkeeper.

The old man picked up his beer and his corn dog, but then he paused. “Gimme a lottery ticket,” he said, and he handed two more dollars to the shopkeeper.

When I got to Dave and Karen’s they were seated around the table, finishing their dinners. Paul was there too, eating a burrito. Tim was chatting with the group.

“Is that your dinner?” Tim asked as I pulled my bounty from the bag: chili-limón Doritos, Necco wafers, diet Dr. Pepper, and a pickled sausage.

“It is,” I said. “Would anyone care for pickled sausage?” Nobody did.

“That minimart down the road is great,” I told Dave and Karen.

“It is?” asked Karen in disbelief. I’m not sure she’s ever been in a minimart.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s my favorite minimart in Portland.” (And it is, too.)

A Corn-y Tale

Last week, I was in a nearby 7-11 picking up a snack. When I went to the counter to pay, I had to wait for the woman in front of me. She was fumbling in her pockets, looking for change while holding a corn dog in one hand. It was slathered in mustard, and she was taking big bites out of it while she searched for her cash.

In addition to the corn dog, she was buying…two cans of corn. WTF? I didn’t even know 7-11 carried corn. I thought it was a vegetable-free zone. More to the point, why would anyone stop at 7-11 just to buy two cans of corn and a corn dog?

I was baffled. I still am.