Nothing is Ever as it Seems

At a hot dog stand at six in the morning I find peace. After being here for almost two months there are very few certainties that I can rely on. One is that disappointment runs rampant when you are far from what is familiar. The other is that I always find contentment at a little hot dog stand just steps away from the madness that is the Roman late-night bar scene.

If your religion is after-hours hijinx and parody, then your Mecca is "Dog-Out" on Corso Vittorio Emmanuelle II. It's always an eclectic mix of the hungry, drunk, and restless. You see, in this country hot dogs are rare. And in the eternal city the flame never dims on "Dog-Out". The place itself is no bigger than 10 feet wide in diameter, and it sticks out lengthwise into the street. There are two stools and the standing area often overflows if there are more than 4 customers. For all purposes, it's a glorified hot dog stand, not a restaurant.

To be honest I have a big crush on Ada, one of the workers there. They're all unique people, but Ada is something different. She's Italian but not Roman, and if you've ever been here you know the difference. Ada is from the south, I think Calabria. She's a dancer who when given the chance will jump around spritely, eyes lit, talking loudly with her hands, as if she's oblivious to the time and the place she's in. Her eyes are wide and curious, and she has an attitude like a New Yorker. She mocks American accents frequently and well.

We exchange words, her co-worker sings a John Legend song on the stereo. We have a cultural exchang over hot dogs and slightly warm Becks beer. It's the only thing that will keep me up at this point. Not just Ada and her co-worker, but the other customers. Usually in Rome, there's a resentment towards Americans. There's a kind of disdain for how we behave as tourists, students. Not at "Dog-Out". We're all in the same boat. It's scary how pig intestine, parts of beef, and chemicals can really bring many cultures together. European, African, American or not, we all love hot dogs after a night of drinking.

At this point we talk about America, Italy, music, then girls (unless they're girls, then we smile and compliment), and eventually George Bush. I've never had a bad conversation there. Ada is always curious. We trade language phrases like baseball cards. The harder the word, the greater the value. She makes faces when she speaks English. I throw my hands up when I speak Italian, to look authentic. Subliminally I'm trying to talk like a charicature of a Jersey mobster. She talks like an MTV VJ.

Politics aside we're all the same. I don't give a fuck about what you call yourself. Even the greatest proponents are admirors. We all concede to a greater commonality. At "Dog-Out" our commonality is barely legal pork biproducts. I think it can be a model for life. Find common ground in the shittiest and most obscure places, and you can build from there. Even if you don't, nothing beats a dog and a cold brew before you call it a night in Roma....NOTHING.