Enlightenment and Hotdogs

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

Enlightenment and Hotdogs

By Plot Roach

Harry watched the Buddhist monk munch happily upon his hotdog. The man seemed as content as could be, his robes vibrant with the sun’s rays as the bustle of the crowd parted to flow around him. In the meantime Harry had to repeatedly dodge pedestrians while trying to get a bite of his own hotdog. In the process he dribbled mustard on his work shirt and managed to bite the inside of his cheek twice, tainting the taste of the dog with a coppery tang.

He had had a horrible morning, what with a traffic accident making him late for work, spilling coffee on an important report for his boss and a phone call from his mother in which she chided him over not calling her the day before -on her birthday.

And now here was this foreigner, standing in his city and acting as if eating a crappy hotdog was the greatest pleasure in all the world. The more he saw the serene man’s face and the world part to accommodate him, the more irate Harry felt.

Harry tossed the rest of his hotdog into the garbage bin next to the hot dog cart and approached the monk, anger nipping at his heels like an unruly mutt. “I thought Buddhists weren’t allowed to eat meat.” he snapped at the man.

The young monk turned to Harry, as if suddenly aware that he was not the only person left on the planet. “Well…that depends.”

“Depends on what?” Harry demanded.

“Some believe that to eat meat adds to the pain of the world because an animal must die for it to be consumed.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Others believe that it is an even greater loss to the world for the meat of an animal, which is already dead, to rot away unconsumed and without purpose. If the animal has already been killed for its meat and the flesh is donated in return for my services, then it is not considered sinful.”

“But you’re eating a hotdog from a food cart, not consuming leftovers from some sacred temple.”

“I would beg to differ. Is this not a place where many come to congregate, to consume ideas as well as sustenance?”

The monk pointed to the clash of people moving in all directions, talking over cell phones and to one another as they crossed the streets. There were preachers, performers and purveyors of goods lining the walkway. The throng of citizens turned from a mishmash of chaos to a symphony of organized humanity. Harry shook his head, he would not let the monk ‘zen’ his way out of this argument.

“And someone ’donated’ the hotdog to you?” Harry asked.

“I did.” said the food stand worker. “He deserved it after the joke he told me.”

“What joke?” Harry asked.

“Did you hear about the time a hotdog became Buddhist? It wanted to be ‘one with everything.’”