Restaurant row in Athens. Each restaurant has a
pitch man or woman saying some version of "Eat here!"
pitch man or woman saying some version of "Eat here!"
Between my hotel and Athens and the place I rented bikes was a block of restaurants. They were side by side competing for tourists who could only eat so many meals. My favorite coffee place was also at the far end of the line, so I passed restaurant row several times a day for three days.
Outside each of the restaurants was a hawker. A man or woman who would say, “Eat here. Authentic Greek food. Or pizza if you want.” I passed by. Crossing the narrow street to the opposite sidewalk was no help. Some of the times I was walking by I was wearing spandex—not a fashion choice of anyone else that I could see.
Finally, the last night I wanted to eat a pizza, so I went in the restaurant with a tall, bearded guy doing the pitches and ordered pizza and water.
When I left, I had to pass by a half-dozen other hawkers. One of them, a short, intense woman in her forties said, “Why did you go to his place? What did they offer you? Was it free beer? They give free beer.”
I was going to keeping walking, then I stopped and said, “They gave me a brand-new car. They gave me a 2020 Renault Clio.”
She looked stunned for a minute then recovered and said, “What else?” Then the woman hawking for the restaurant beside hers, a taller woman in her late 20s, smiled and said, “Yes, what else did they give you?”
I said, “Two motorcycles. A Ducati Monster and Honda CBR1000.”
She said, “You better be careful and not drink too much if you are riding those bikes.”
I said I drank a whole bottle of sparkling water and would not touch the bikes till morning. She smiled. The first woman forced a smile. Clearly, she had a side bet going about whether the old guy in spandex would ever eat in one of their restaurants.
