I refer to him as “The Pushy Tamale Guy.” I know it is not exactly nice but, well? You know who I’m talking about, Patagonians. It’s the guy who shows up on Thursdays and goes door to door, business to business chanting “Tamales! Tortillas!” Now I have nothing against his products – they’re authentic as they come. He’s polite and most definitely consistent, but Pushy Tamale Guy has a way of making you hide. I used to keep an extra $5 in my pocket just for tortillas and a free pass.

I’d buy my tortillas upon first encounter and then I’d be free to walk about town without “Tamales! Tortillas!” being hurled in my direction. That didn’t last. He apparently didn’t keep a mental tab of who did and didn’t buy his products, so the game continued. On Thursdays I’d duck and dodge, he’d bob and weave. I’d miss him at the gas station and he’d round about and catch me at the post office. There are just some weeks where I just don’t want any damn tamales or tortillas.

Then one Thursday I had an epiphany. Having just heard my standard “Tamales! Tortillas!” greeting, I politely said, “No thanks” and then immediately thought of Zach and all my other self-employed friends. Now Zach doesn’t exactly comb the streets yelling, “Ukuleles!” Nor does my friend Martha walk table to table at local restaurants chanting, “Pots! Mugs!” But I’m sure they can relate to a self-employed guy who’s just trying to make a living. I guess now so can I. Pushy Tamale Guy may not have a fancy white canopy at a festival, or a website where you can click on Red Chile or Green (I know, Column Hater, I’m making assumptions) but he’s here every Thursday rain or shine peddling his hand made creations. I’m sorry, Pushy Tamale Guy, for being put out by your sales tactics. Short of setting up a booth, how else are you going to sell your tamales and tortillas? And I especially like it when you peek your head over my fence, so keep up the good work.