It's only slightly more satisfying than when I stare them down, unblinking, while I brush the dumb nuclear-colored salad off of a hot dog, and then sexily blast some ketchup all over it. Or leaning in all close and casual and ordering a beef...and then adding that I want some melted cheese on that bad boy, AND for the bread to be toasted. I love wrecking the worlds of Chicago food peddlers.