Peddling Pies

Middle aged, ponytailed guy chats me up at the bus stop. He looks like a cubicle veteran. He carries a cardboard fruit crate, sets it down on the bench, and chats me up about the white bakery boxes in the crate. The boxes hold apple pies.

He has a patter about the hundreds of hours perfecting the recipe, and the ingredients (cognac), and the "hand braided" top lattice. When I pass on the $15 apple pie, he gregariously continues with the story of why he sells pies.

It's told with a determined attitude, but it is still a pity story. He has to get his vehicle back. Pay child support. He has traffic tickets that he should fight, but he would make less going to court to fight them than he can make in a day of peddling pies.

There is no way that this guy is doing this with permits. Farmers Market? I ask him, and he says, No need. Shakes his head.

He is going to get nabbed. Fined. No permit for street food, no commercial kitchen. I doubt that he even has a food handler's permit. Business license?

I wouldn't eat random street pie. But at the same time, this guy is trying to do something. He's not going about it in a smart way, though.