I saw the Wienermobile and regretted my life choices

I don’t usually regret my choice of career, other than when I read the comments about my stories, which is why I never read the comments about my stories. I am, for the most part, very content with the life I’ve created for myself as a writer.

I do, however, have moments where I wonder what my life might look like if I had been aware of all the possible career paths out there.

What would have happened, for instance, if my high school guidance counselor had sat me down and said to me, “I think you might have a really bright future as a hotdogger.”

What’s a hotdogger, you ask?

“Hotdogger” is the official title of the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile drivers. I had the opportunity to meet two hotdoggers at the Smith’s Marketplace parking lot in West Jordan where the Wienermobile was stationed on Saturday.

It all started when I received an email that read:

“My name is BBQ Brady and I drive the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. After a summer spent as the Frankmobile we are excited to welcome back this icon and share it with the wonderful people of Utah. Me and my co-pilot Aioli Anna will be in town from April 18th through April 21st. Come Ketchup with us. If you’d like to ‘meat’ up in person we’d love to show you the inside of our 27-foot-long hotdog, give you an iconic Weenie Whistle, and possibly even give you a ride around the block.”

With that much wordplay in one invite, how could I possibly refuse?

So on Saturday morning, my five-year-old son and I made the 30-minute journey west until we arrived at the grocery store parking lot, and there it was: the Wienermobile in all its glory. A, yellow, pink and tan hot dog-shaped wonder, its spotless shine glistening in the morning sun.

Sitting at a table next to the Wienermobile and greeting awestruck spectators was BBQ Brady, AKA Braden Schroeder.

Schroeder and his co-hotdogger Anna Murphy (Aioli Anna) have been driving the West Coast weenie — one of six Wienermobiles in the country — to a different city every week for the past year. Most recently they were in Los Angeles, Las Vegas and Texas. After Salt Lake City, they’re headed to Washington state. (Washingtonians can track the vehicle’s location here.)

Schroeder invited us to tour the inside of the Wienermobile, which felt like the fanciest charter bus money can rent. Hot dog pillows decorated yellow and red seats, and neon confetti-patterned carpet covered the floor.

Schroeder explained that the Wienermobile legacy started in 1936 when Oscar Mayer’s nephew, Carl G. Mayer, built the giant hot dog on wheels to spread smiles in the Chicago area during the Great Depression. “Ever since then we’ve been dedicated to that same mission,” he said.

“Whenever we’re traveling down the road people are honking and waving,” Schroeder said. “It’s a very joy-bringing thing. We’re happy to be the harbingers of joy to our communities.”

Murphy added, “I would say the best part is honestly just being able to spread positivity wherever we go. People are so happy to see us, which, you can’t get that anywhere.”

I thought of the comments sections when she said that. And cried. OK, not really. But I cried a little inside.

Both Schroeder and Murphy are recent college graduates. Schroeder studied marketing, and Murphy studied public relations. They plan to use their year as hotdoggers — a year that ends in June — to transition into the next phase of their careers. That transition might be bittersweet, they admitted. “We try to really relish that year that we have,” Murphy said. Get it? RELISH.

I tried not to begrudge Schroeder and Murphy for living what is clearly the dream. But it was difficult not to feel as though I was witnessing my very own “Sliding Doors” moment while talking to them, wondering what might have been.

It’s not too late for my son, though. He observed the Wienermobile in quiet reverence and walked away with a Weenie Whistle in hand. Yes, I’ve since hid the whistle for my own sanity, but I know that even without that tangible token, he’ll never forget that morning we spent touring the Wienermobile and meeting the hotdoggers, and perhaps rerouting his life trajectory toward a future of sitting behind the wheel of a giant hotdog on wheels, smiling and waving at the other drivers of life’s highway.