The Visual Language of Bargain

There is a hive of food carts in downtown Portland. You know, roach coaches. I have always had a serious problem with these places. The name roach coach didn't exactly help things out. I'm not the kind of guy that won't eat something if it's a little past ripe, or if the texture is a little "funny." That's not me. I am not a picky eater by any means. But when I see these places, I get creeped out something fierce.

It may go back to my time spent in Brazil. They have similar little places there (only they look more in context, Brazil being a 3rd world country.) Some of them cook little chishkabobs of some kind of meat roasted over a bed of coals. Like here, they have a nickname for them. They called them "churrasco de gato." Cat barbeque.

Foul.

That's just something you shouldn't joke about. It may be true that the carts here run rampant with roaches late a night, but NOBODY wants to eat cat.

I never did take a chance on one of those cat joints. But I did eat hot dogs on occasion while I was there. Once the dog ate me, if you know what I mean! I had been pretty sketched out by the hot dog stand by our house. Mostly because of the terrifying number of spelling errors and backward letters on his hand painted signs. But my friend wanted to get a cheap snack, so I went with it. Oh mother! Why didn't you teach me better than that!?

The details of what followed are better left a bit on the fuzzy side. But I will tell you that I have never thought my brain was trying to leap out of my eyes sockets before then. I slept for pretty close to 18 hours. When I woke up every step I took pumped 100 psi of blood into my brainpan.

The whole experience was not worth a mediocre hot dog, no matter how cheap it was.

So when I first saw an entire block of these food carts here I nearly ran away screaming. They all have similar characteristics, namely really bad design. I'm trying to decide if it was the life threatening and life altering experience I had in Brazil or the fact that their signs are just so bad that I can't trust these places. Maybe it's the fact that they could just slam the shutters down that skip town if they got caught serving rat, or a severed toe, or something.

Over the past few months, with the support and encouragement of loving co-workers, I have been slowly overcoming my coach phobia. I have to admit. They serve some wicked good slop! And cheap as dirt, too!

As part of my healing process I took these pictures. I have come to appreciate what I call the visual language of bargain. Perhaps it can be equated in a simple formula:

(super ugly signs) + (really good food) = Excellent Bargain!!

There is a certain folksy humanity that exists in this language. It's kinda nice. In a bad way.