On a crisp October day in Washington, D.C., a corner usually bustling with commuters and government workers now hosts an unexpected sight: Isaac Stein, a lawyer for the Internal Revenue Service, stands behind a gleaming hot dog cart under a bright red and yellow umbrella. The stand, wittily named "Shysters Dogs," proclaims its motto on a hand-painted sign: "the only honest ripoff in DC." Stein, who typically spends his days drafting tax regulations, has swapped his office for the sidewalk—at least for now—thanks to the ongoing government shutdown that has left hundreds of thousands of federal employees furloughed.
Stein's journey from IRS lawyer to hot dog vendor is the kind of story that could only emerge in the nation's capital during a crisis. According to NPR, he was furloughed on October 8, 2025, just after securing all necessary permits for his new side business. What began as a weekend project, rooted in childhood dreams of manning a concession stand, suddenly became a full-time gig as the shutdown dragged on. "I am having a grand old time slinging hot dogs," Stein told NPR, his enthusiasm undimmed by the circumstances.
For Stein, the hot dog cart is more than a stopgap; it's a playful embrace of entrepreneurship and community spirit during uncertain times. He recalls, "While my classmates enjoyed playing basketball, I had more fun manning the concessions stand." This summer, he decided to make that childhood aspiration a reality, and the timing—though unexpected—proved fortuitous. As the government shutdown entered its fourth week by late October, Stein found himself serving up laughs and lunches seven days a week.
The menu at Shysters Dogs is as irreverent as its owner. A single hot dog and drink costs $10, or $17 for two dogs (with a bag of chips thrown in), as reported by both NPR and El-Balad. But the real fun lies in the details. Stein champions what he calls the "correct hot dog," topped with mustard and sauerkraut. "I'm trying to incentivize people to do what I think a correct hot dog is," he explained to NPR. For those who prefer unconventional toppings, he levies a playful $1 "penalty"—though, as he reassures, "If someone wants other things, that's totally, totally fine. No judgment. But I do reserve the right to assess an additional dollar as a penalty."
Beyond the basics, Shysters Dogs offers a quirky selection: RC Cola (which Stein unabashedly promotes as the best cola), MoonPies, dog treats, and even branded stickers. For the trivia-inclined, there's a five-cent discount for anyone who can recite the historical significance of MoonPies or RC Cola—a nod to the stand's whimsical spirit. Stein told El-Balad that this discount is his way of sparking conversation and celebrating the oddball history of these classic snacks.
Perhaps the most eyebrow-raising item on the menu is the "SHIRT OFF MY BACK." For a generous donation—"If someone coughs up a solid grand, I will literally strip half naked, take the shirt off my back, call it a day and walk home," Stein joked to NPR—customers can walk away with more than just lunch. So far, no one's taken him up on the offer, but the prospect adds to the stand's playful reputation.
Business, it turns out, is brisk. Stein estimates he sells about 50 hot dogs each day, a testament to both his culinary skills and the stand's novelty. Locals have embraced Shysters Dogs, turning it into a minor neighborhood attraction. The stand's lighthearted approach—complete with a $1 penalty for "wrong" toppings and the ever-present possibility of witnessing a shirtless IRS lawyer—has brought a sense of camaraderie and humor to a city often weighed down by political strife.
Stein's story is emblematic of the adaptability and resilience many federal workers have displayed during the shutdown. With paychecks paused and uncertainty looming, some have turned to side hustles or creative pursuits to make ends meet. But for Stein, the hot dog cart is more than a financial necessity; it's a source of joy and a way to give back to his community. "I hope it can bring a laugh to the community—even if I have to charge you a 10% tax for ordering a dog with the 'wrong toppings,'" he quipped to NPR.
The shutdown, which began in early October 2025, has left hundreds of thousands of federal employees like Stein in limbo. According to both NPR and El-Balad, the impact has been widespread, with many workers seeking alternative sources of income or ways to stay engaged. Yet rather than dwell on frustration, Stein has chosen to channel his energy into something that brings people together—one hot dog at a time.
Despite his newfound success as a hot dog entrepreneur, Stein looks forward to returning to his IRS job. "But I'm definitely not giving this up," he told NPR. "This is going to be a weekend project, I think, for life." His vision for Shysters Dogs goes beyond the shutdown; he hopes to continue serving up "correct" hot dogs, MoonPies, and good-natured banter long after government business resumes.
Stein's approach to business is refreshingly transparent. The prices are posted clearly, the menu is simple, and the humor is ever-present. Even the penalties and discounts are designed to elicit smiles rather than grumbles. As El-Balad noted, his motto—"the only honest ripoff in DC"—captures the spirit of a venture that pokes gentle fun at the city's reputation while offering a genuinely enjoyable experience.
In a city where bureaucracy and politics often dominate the headlines, Stein's hot dog stand is a reminder of the small joys and unexpected connections that can arise in difficult times. His willingness to laugh at himself, to engage with customers, and to turn a furlough into an opportunity has made Shysters Dogs more than just a food cart—it's a symbol of community resilience and the enduring appeal of a really good hot dog.
As the shutdown continues, Stein remains optimistic. He sees Shysters Dogs not just as a temporary fix, but as a fixture in his life and his neighborhood. Whether he's wearing a suit and tie or, perhaps one day, no shirt at all, Isaac Stein has found a way to bring a little warmth and humor to Washington, D.C.—one mustard-and-sauerkraut-topped hot dog at a time.
