South of the Boarder

We have seen them.

Dancing. Clapping. Cajoling us for our attention. Singing. Laughing. Pointing.

Was it a preacher trying to rise their congregation to their feet? An aging rock star in leather pants (with a pot belly to boot) begging the audience to scream because "I can't hear you!"? Or a toddler on the verge of a meltdown in the toy aisle at Target?

No. If this were a multiple-choice test, the answer would be (d) None of the above.

They're the people who stand on the corner with signs prostituting a nearby business's sales or wares. Or, as I've seen so much lately in the Portland area, a business's going-out-of-business sale.

As the rows of cars drive along the path to their plotted destination, these souls brave the heat, rain, and, let's admit it, humiliation that comes with having to make an uninterested group of people interested. I'm not sure if these poster children are a step above or below a telemarketer.

And therein lies the truth...

Despite what any arrogant asshole in their air-conditioned car thinks, I give them a lot of credit. How many of us would stand on a corner to dance, clap, sing, or point for what probably isn't a lot of money?

Any takers?

I thought so. So, the next time if some person in a yellow chicken suit waves to you while standing in 90-degree weather while you wait at the red light in a comfortable seat while being blasted with cold air, wave back.