The food truck was massive. Bright yellow with red flames painted on the sides, and music blasting from speakers mounted on top. It looked like something that belonged at a carnival, not a little league tournament.
I watched in amazement as kids seemed to come out of nowhere, running toward the truck from all directions. Where had they all been hiding?
“What’s that?” a little girl asked her mom, pointing at the colorful vehicle.
“Looks like a snack truck, honey. Want to go see what they have?”
My heart sank as I watched a line form at the truck’s window. Kids were appearing out of the woodwork – kids I hadn’t seen all day were suddenly materializing with money in their hands.
A man in a bright red apron stepped out of the truck. He was tall and round, with a big smile that showed too many teeth and an even bigger voice. His hair was slicked back with so much gel it looked like plastic, and he wore a bow tie that was slightly crooked. Everything about him seemed just a little too bright, a little too loud, a little too much.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!” he announced like a circus ringmaster, spreading his arms wide with dramatic flair. “Welcome to Griggs’ Grub! The finest mobile eatery this side of the Mississippi!”
I had to resist the urge to look around for the elephants and trapeze artists. This guy was more carnival ring leader than snack seller.
Griggs’ Grub. Even his name sounded more professional than “The snack girl.”
He spotted me at my little table and walked over, his smile never wavering. Up close, I could see that his eyes didn’t match his grin – they were cold and calculating, like he was sizing me up.
“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice suddenly quieter but somehow more menacing. “What do we have here? A little entrepreneur!”
There was something about the way he said “little” that made me feel uneasy.
“Um, hi,” I said, not sure if I should be polite or menacing.
“I’m Mr. Griggs,” he said, extending a hand that was bigger than both of mine put together. “Been in the mobile food business for fifteen years. Started with a hot dog cart, worked my way up to this beauty.” He gestured proudly at his truck.
“I’m Kiora,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Kiora! What a lovely name. And look at this setup you’ve got here. Very… quaint.”
Quaint. That didn’t sound like a compliment.
“You know,” Mr. Griggs continued, “I remember when I was just starting out. Had a little card table just like this one. Course, that was before I learned about permits and health codes and all that business stuff.”
My stomach twisted. Permits? Health codes?
“But hey,” he said, “everyone’s got to start somewhere, right? You keep at it, kiddo. Maybe someday you’ll have a setup like mine.”
He walked back to his truck, calling out to the growing crowd. “Step right up! We’ve got hot dogs, hamburgers, nachos, cotton candy, and ice-cold sodas! Everything a growing athlete needs!”
I looked at my simple display of candy bars, chips, and water bottles. Suddenly, it looked very small and very amateur.
But it was what he said next that really made my heart sink.
“And…” Mr. Griggs announced with a flourish, “we’re featuring our famous rainbow snow cones! Beat the heat with a frozen treat!”
Snow cones. He sells snow cones? I didn’t even know how to make a snow cone.
As I watched more and more kids flock to his truck, I realized I wasn’t just competing with another snack seller.
I was up against a real professional who saw me as easy prey.