Getting the attention of a chilango is no easy task. In Mexico City, one's senses are quickly filled to overflowing (it's one of the highs we urbanites are addicted to). So you need something to make yourself stand out. Parking lot attendants wave red flannel flags to entice you in, a giant fuzzy dragon hands out flyers for a discount pharmacy, twin girls in hot pants and sequined cowboy boots shimmy in front of a car repair shop. I once heard a mariachi group celebrating the opening of a street stall selling piles of raw chicken parts.
By my prize goes to this group of young performers promoting vegetable oil on a street corner near the metro stop Hospital General. They're working 4 hours a day, three days a week--at least for now. Luckily there were no free samples. I stayed for a few minutes and watched. Everyone else just walked on by.
