The Bacon Hotdog King of Los Angeles
By Gael Ortiz (Translated from Spanish)
It took 20 years working on Hollywood Boulevard to learn that the entertainment industry is boundaryless in its pursuit of a story.
It’s hard to tell you all why what happened to me actually happened to me. But I can tell what did happen.
May 1st, 2019 Hollywood, CA
I left home with 80 wieners, 80 hotdog buns, 10 pounds of bacon, 20 onions, 15 bell peppers, a pack of 120 napkins, mustard, mayonnaise and ketchup. That would mark the 20 year anniversary of when I left Morelos, Zacatecas, my hometown in Mexico to live in Los Angeles. My first day here my cousin Arturo brought me to the walk of fame. I would see aspiring actors, billboards of films to premiere, families forming lines to take pictures with people dressed as the Terminator, Marylin Monroe, and Snoopy. All I could think is this was where I was meant to be, and here I would sell my hotdogs for the next two decades.
This day I was close to selling all of my hotdogs. If that happened, I would have a perfect day and a great way to celebrate. Three left. As the Spidermans and break dancers packed up and left, a very tall and skinny gabacho came to my hotdog stand in front of the TCL Chinese Theater. “Tres”, he said with a glazed look in his eye.
I have never seen anyone eat a hotdog without chewing. He was like a snake. And, later I would find out he was much more than a snake. He called two of his friends over to my stand. One of them had a camera; the other was holding audio recording equipment. He handed them each a hotdog.
“Como te llamas”, they asked.
“Gael” I answered proudly.
“No bro. You’re the Bacon Hotdog King.” This upset me very much.
“Sorry. Sorry. My name is Gael.”
“But your new title is the Bacon Hotdog King, dude.”
I did not understand this way of being friendly-to disrespect me with a smile on their face. They started to film me. I thought maybe they do YouTube or make funny videos. I thought maybe they would post the video on Facebook and my family in Morelos would see. I would later come to find out that they were VICE Magazine and were on Hollywood Boulevard filming a documentary about the underground opium dens in Coldwater Canyon run by Second City improv alumni. I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time-trying to make a living.
They asked me to make more hotdogs. They said it would make “good B-roll.” I told them I was tired for the day. They said if I did it, I could meet Matty Matheson. I kept refusing. They said to follow them and get into their van. I kept saying I did not want to go with them. They kept saying I could meet Matty Matheson. I did not know who he was or why he was so important. One man gave me his phone to show me a picture. Maybe it was a mistake. It was a man with tattoos who was eating a hamburger. Maybe it was a rock star who became fat?
They yelled, “He used to do drugs but now he’s a chef!” I could not match their enthusiasm.
I remember that was the last thing I thought before I woke up in the back of a van.
May 2nd, 2019, Morning (I think) somewhere near Sonora, Mexico
I became conscious. My eyes were still closed. I did not want my captors to know I was awake. Who knows what they would do. I kept still as I heard the rumbling of the tires on the road. I could tell I was in the back of a van that was moving. I heard them fighting. Asking themselves how I would be able to go back to the US without a passport. As I realized I was no longer in the United States, the van rolled over a huge pothole. My body flew up. I couldn’t help but scream as I went crashing down to meet the bed of the van. As if they were trying to be encouraging for me to wake up, they chanted “Bacon King! Bacon King!” They were probably trying to soften the situation- the fact that I was there against my will.
In the van there were the three guys from before but there was also a young woman with a shirt that read, “Whether you’re Black, brown, asian, or normal, everybody loves Raymond.” There was also a man who-if I did not see him alive and real in front of me-I would’ve believed to be a thousand balloons losing their helium. A bucket hat, bleached hair and a body so inked up, it could be easily mistaken for the door of a truck stop bathroom stall, there he was-Matty Matheson.
They explained to me that we were going to Sonora, Mexico to meet up with internet sensation-the Senoran Trap Queen. One of the producers, Jeff, showed me a video on his phone of an older Mexican woman who operated a corn stand in front of her home in a pueblo. Every time a customer would come, she’d have trouble getting out of her chair to attend them. So much trouble in fact, that her trailing leg would tremble resembling what I’ve been explained to be the stanky leg. In this video they looped her leg shaking and added Fetty Wap’s Trap Queen to play over it.
We reached the Sonoran town of Caborca at nightfall. We could hear the synchronized closing of metal, roll-up doors signaling closing time for many of the storefronts. There wasn’t much to light this aisle of commerce we found ourselves on. There were three street lights that remained on during the night and then faintly from a distance, an ember slowly grew.
Tacos.
A late night taco stand was just starting the fire that would heat their grill for a few hours. I was both excited to eat tacos cooked over a flame with meats marinated for days and tortillas made by hand but I was also concerned with what these gabachos would do to try to get content for VICE. Almost like a second nature, the crew pulled out cameras and sound equipment putting them in front of the faces of the taqueros and their families. The taqueros kept saying they did not want the cameras in their face. The gabachos did not hear the demand that they leave the taqueros. Instead, they flaunted Matty Matheson as a world-renowned chef.
After the taqueros were nonplussed at this failure of a name drop, they pointed at me and stated that I was the Bacon Hotdog King of Los Angeles. I was very embarrassed that I was being used to harass these people. The taqueros asked me what was going on and what these guys wanted. I told them that they would leave soon. Just cooperate. Matty Matheson forced himself behind the grill as the crew recorded. He began to demonstrate how to make “authentic Sonoran Desert Tacos.” As he began to speak, he grew quicker, louder and more high-pitched. At the peak of his castrato cooking opera, coyotes began to howl at a matching frequency. Matty prepared a seemingly normal asada taco but he looked at the camera and said, “wanna know how to kick this up a notch?” He grabbed a handful of desert dust from beneath his feet and dusted the tacos with it. He handed it to the taquero. They refused. Matty pointed at the meat cleaver tattoo on his forearm. The taquero’s eyes met mine for help. He looked at the taco. He looked at Matty. Matty pointed at the meat cleaver tattoo. He looked at his family. He grabbed the dust laden taco and took a bite. Matty shrieked in delight.
“And that’s how you make authentic Sonoran Desert Tacos.”
May 3rd, 2019
Dawn.
I woke up violently being shaken by one of the crew members. ‘Larynx’ was his name. He told me that after everyone went to sleep, he went out into the desert to search for the Sonoran Desert Toad. He said that he quickly realized he could not identify psychedelic toads from regular toads so he began to lick every toad he could find. And at one point in his spree, in his most desperate moment, he realized the insanity of it all. VICE in its trajectory from alternative punk magazine to youth media company normalized the act of visiting and exploiting cultures and subcultures alike resulting in the creation of a handbook and travel guide for the hipster elite stretching from neo-liberals trying to get a high to hyper conservatives seeking to show why the European way of life was superior than those focused in on as subject to news stories. He also seemed really freaked out that he had sexually assaulted hundreds of toads.
He revealed to me that they were going to be out on assignment for 3 months driving south to Argentina fabricating stories as they visited different towns and cities. With his new found consciousness he aimed to take the VICE van and take me with him back to the US. We agreed that as soon as we saw a way to make a clean break, we would.
The crew had a brief meeting in the back of the van. They had heard that Buzzfeed was also in town aiming to interview the Sonoran Trap Queen. The lead guy suggested they use me, the Bacon Hotdog King to speak to her in Spanish as to ingratiate myself with her and gain preference for VICE to interview her. Laid on the floor there was an A Bathing Ape tee, Saint Laurent Joggers, and Balenciaga sneakers. I heard them discuss that they would force this old woman to lean towards an urban, streetwear aesthetic by making her wear it. I felt bad agreeing but it felt like the rest of the crew would be distracted enough interviewing her that Larynx and I could get away.
We arrived in front of her stand surrounded by dozens of tourists. I looked at this woman who did not want this attention. A woman who wanted her legacy to be that of a hard working woman, mother, and grandmother. She was never to be a candidate for a viral meme. But here we are with a large crowd of tourists playing Fetty Wap on their phones and trying to get her to stanky leg. I looked into her almond eyes and saw the fear. This moment was just an echo of the horror started when white people first set foot on this land.
I was nudged by the crew to talk to her to get the interview. I knew that this woman was not making a living from her new found fame. All she wanted was to be left alone. I still had the money I made on my 20 year anniversary as a hotdog vendor. I spoke to her and told her to take the money and close for the week. That’s enough for all of this to blow over. I walked back to the crew and told them she was headed home to put on a Prada outfit and that I’d wait in the van. Larynx and I quickly started the car and never looked back.
How did I get back into the US without a passport? Well we stopped in Tijuana at an internet cafe so Larynx could publish an article on me with my photo on the VICE website. We got to the border. He showed them who I was and we were waved through.
Why wouldn’t they? I am the Bacon Hotdog King of Los Angeles afterall.
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