He looks up over his glasses. “To be Hotdoggers. Drivers of the Wienermobile. Our destiny.”
I blink. “I was joking.”
“I wasn’t,” he says. “You said it yourself, shoulda been a driver. No more regrets, Mac. Live your truth.”
I stare at him, mustard crusted to my cheek. “We’re not recent college grads.”
He shrugs. “Minor detail.”
“Dude. The job literally says they only hire recent grads. You gotta have a communications degree and a clean driving record.”
He grins. “I communicate constantly, and I haven’ttechnicallycrashed anything since 2019.”
“Your truck caught fire outside an Arby’s.”
“Spontaneous combustion. Still counts.”
He turns the laptop to face me. On the screen is the Oscar Mayer Hotdogger Application Portal, bright and shiny and full of potential. The qualifications are clear:
Bachelor’s degree required
Strong communication and public speaking skills
Willingness to travel full time for a year
Must love hot dogs
I point at the screen. “I have none of those things.”
“You love hot dogs.”
“Okay,oneof those things.”
He scrolls down. “Former Hotdoggers have gone on to become politicians, CEOs, talk show hosts. The Wienermobile’s a pipeline to greatness, man.”
“I got kicked out of my apartment building for grilling shirtless in winter.”
“That’s just unconventional leadership.”
I sigh. “What would we even put in the cover letter?”
He cracks his knuckles. “I already started it.”
