Tales of a Pepper Pimp
Tomatoes sell themselves. Peppers you gotta hustle.
On the bus, at the bakery, during the cat’s check-up at the City Cat Clinic — I’m pimpin’ plants.
You like ‘em hot? You like ‘em sweet? You into Eastern European heirlooms? The Pepper… er… a.. Peppa’ Pimp’s gotcha covered.
My startribune.com coworkers were an easy sell. Buy a pot. Plant a pepper.
Any sunny spot will do.
Don’t have room? I don’t have time for your excuses.
The members on my kickball team savored the taste of free peppers as much as the taste victory. (However, after accepting and planting my extra potatoes, our third basewoman had no patience or space for my latest solicitations, “Enough with the free plants! Kick that red rubber ball and get on base!”)
Yeah, my hustle’s tight.
Even GG reader Rebecca of Veggie S.O.S. received a couple “bonus peppers” with her replacement tomato plant.
Chillin’ on company time with company resources, my inbox has gone international with deals big and small:
Jaime,
My wife Monica is going to give you a call. She works in the warehouse district and can come over to drop off the (Italian) “goods”. She will wear a red trench coat with a green hat. You should wear a yellow shirt with turquoise pants so we know who you are. The seeds will be in the garbage at 4th and Hennepin for the exchange.
Matt
Yellow shirt? Turquoise pants? Man, it’s hard out here for a pimp.









