On a brisk weekday afternoon in Washington, D.C.’s bustling NoMa neighborhood, an unusual sight greets passersby at the corner of First and M Street NE. There, in a crisp business suit and tie, stands Isaac Stein—a 31-year-old attorney for the Internal Revenue Service—serving up hot dogs, Moon Pies, and RC Cola from a cart humorously dubbed “SHYSTERS.” The name, a tongue-in-cheek reference to the slang for an unscrupulous lawyer, is part of the cart’s layered irony and charm. But for Stein, what began as a side project has become both a creative outlet and a lifeline during turbulent times.
Stein’s journey from tax regulations to hot dog buns began months before the federal government ground to a halt. According to Business Insider, Stein had long harbored a dream of running a food stand—a passion kindled at age 12, when he manned a concession stand during a school basketball game. “All the other boys were interested in the game,” Stein recalled to Reuters. “I had way more interest selling chips and soda.” That early spark simmered for years, finally taking shape in June 2025 when he decided to bring his vision to life.
Launching a hot dog cart in the nation’s capital, however, is no simple feat. Stein invested a five-figure sum to secure all the necessary equipment and spent months navigating a thicket of regulations. “I read 150 pages of regulations myself,” he told The Washington Post, referencing the extensive health, fire, and consumer protection inspections, as well as motor vehicle registration and sidewalk permits required to operate legally. For a man who crafts retirement plan regulations by day, the bureaucracy was familiar territory. “Everything about this stand was done by the book,” Stein said with a wry smile.
His original plan was modest: open “Shyster’s Dogs” on Thursday and Friday evenings and weekends, squeezing in the venture around his IRS duties. “To be real, Thursday was a bit ambitious,” Stein admitted to Business Insider. “It’s hard to function in the office without enough sleep, and I want to be good at my legal job.” But on October 8, 2025, the ongoing government shutdown changed everything. Furloughed from his IRS post, Stein suddenly found himself with ample time—and a pressing need to fill his days.
What began as a “fun weekend project” quickly became a full-time pursuit. Now, Stein typically sets up shop from noon to 5 p.m. on weekdays, often extending into weekends. The cart, adorned with the slogan “The Only Honest Ripoff in D.C.,” has become a fixture near the Metro and a Harris Teeter grocery store, drawing a diverse clientele of construction workers, government employees, and tech workers escaping their home offices. The stand’s menu is as playful as its proprietor: for $10, customers can order “The Only Choice,” a hot dog with spicy brown mustard and sauerkraut—Stein’s preferred toppings. Those who dare to ask for ketchup, ordering the “Hot Dog with the Wrong Toppings,” pay a dollar more. “From a young age, I have wanted to punish people for putting ketchup on a hot dog,” Stein joked to Business Insider. “But to be commercially viable, you have to have it. The pricing difference is reflective of incentives: I want people to do it the right way.”
The cart’s offerings extend beyond hot dogs. Nostalgia and regional flair infuse the menu: Hebrew National franks, Chicago-style giardiniera, Moon Pies, and RC Cola for Southern patrons, and even free, hot dog-shaped dog treats for four-legged visitors. Stein relishes the interaction with customers, sometimes rewarding those who can recite the historical significance of RC Cola and Moon Pies with a nickel off their order. “There’s the connection with people. There’s the small talk of asking people about their day. It’s like reading vignettes in a novel. You feel really connected,” Stein told Reuters and The Washington Post. “My office job is wonderful but a lot of the work is very solitary.”
Stein’s sartorial choices are as deliberate as his menu. He serves every customer clad in a suit and tie, a nod to “genteel old Washington” and a subtle subversion of the city’s social norms. “Clothes in this city have a lot to do with social positioning. So it’s intended to be subversive,” he explained to The Washington Post. The cart itself, he added, is “part culinary enterprise, part conceptual art.” It’s his “first attempt at performance art,” a joyous experiment in self-expression and irony. “Part of what I’m doing with my expression here is there are many layers of irony,” he told Business Insider. “One of the layers is that I’m a lawyer, and I’m doing everything correctly. I have all the right permits, and I pay taxes.”
Despite the whimsy, Stein’s hot dog stand has proven a modest financial success. He reports serving 40 to 50 customers daily and making $200 to $300 in profit each day—enough to keep the project afloat, though hardly a replacement for his IRS salary. For Stein, though, the rewards are more personal than monetary. “It’s given me a chance to be in the community more,” he said. Regulars have emerged, some with highly particular orders, and Stein takes pride in brightening their routines. “If I can bring that to their life, that makes me really happy.”
Yet, for all the satisfaction his street-side enterprise brings, Stein’s heart remains with public service. “People who are tax lawyers for the government aren’t doing it for the money,” he reflected to Business Insider. “Everyone wants to get back to work, because we actually like what we do.” When the shutdown ends, he plans to return to his IRS post—though he hopes to keep “Shyster’s Dogs” running on weekends, blending his twin passions for legal work and culinary creativity.
Stein’s story, quirky as it may be, captures the resilience and ingenuity of federal workers navigating uncertain times. While the shutdown has forced many to scramble for income, Stein has found a way to transform furlough into fulfillment, serving up not just hot dogs but also humor, connection, and a dash of performance art to the streets of Washington. For now, the “only honest ripoff in D.C.” is open for business, one mustard-laden frank at a time.
