The most aggravating thing about "A Hot Dog Program" is Chicago’s PBS station’s decision to frequently air it in the wee hours of the night. As myway has stated, you wind up "in a deep hypnotic state" yearning for a hot dog at two in the morning long after any reasonable outlets for same have closed.
I suppose I could hop in the car, drive into the city and subject myself to the verbal abuse of the counter girls and the drunken madness of the recently departed Rush Street boozers at The Weiner’s Circle. Or head further south and wade through the junkies looking for a hand out as I make my way from the car to the open window at Jim’s or Maxwell Street Original near Roosevelt Road.
More likely I will simply whimper resignation, turn over and go to sleep with my poor belly growling it’s disappointment.
Just reading about "A Hot Dog Program" and reliving those late night moments of frustration has sent me into a Pavlovian trance, suddenly needing a frankfurter fix.