The health department was called on a teen's hot dog stand. Its response was wonderful.

Jaequan Faulkner loves running his hot dog stand.

The 13-year-old from Minneapolis is the proud owner of Mr. Faulkner's Old Fashioned Hot Dogs. It's a pop-up now, but, according to The Star Tribune, he hopes to turn it into a food truck one day.

Faulkner started the business when he found his uncle's old rotisserie machine and decided to put it to good use. This summer, he set up shop, filling the hungry bellies of approximately 20 customers a day with hot dogs, polish sausages, chips, and drinks.


Shortly after he started selling hot dogs, someone called the health department. They responded in a way no one expected.

Sure, food sellers have to be regulated, but this is just a teen grilling hot dogs for some extra pocket money. Instead of shutting Faulkner down, the health department helped him make his business a bigger success.

Not only did they provide him with all the necessary information on passing a health inspection — now Faulkner's got thermometers, hand sanitizer, and a station for cleaning his tongs and other tools of the trade — but the city also paid for Faulkner's permit once he'd checked off all the requirements.

For Faulkner, it's not just about the money — it's about making a difference in his community.

"I like having my own business,” he told The Tribune. "I like letting people know just because I'm young doesn't mean I can't do anything."

And he's not slowing down anytime soon — in 2019, the teen-trepreneur plans to donate a percentage of his profits to organizations raising awareness about depression and suicide, something that's personally important to him.

Go get 'em, Jaequan. Today, a hot dog stand. Tomorrow? The world!

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Shanda Lynn Poitra was born and raised on the Turtle Mountain Reservation in Belcourt, North Dakota. She lived there until she was 24 years old when she left for college at the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks.

"Unfortunately," she says, "I took my bad relationship with me. At the time, I didn't realize it was so bad, much less, abusive. Seeing and hearing about abusive relationships while growing up gave me the mentality that it was just a normal way of life."

Those college years away from home were difficult for a lot of reasons. She had three small children — two in diapers, one in elementary school — as well as a full-time University class schedule and a part-time job as a housekeeper.

"I wore many masks back then and clothing that would cover the bruises," she remembers. "Despite the darkness that I was living in, I was a great student; I knew that no matter what, I HAD to succeed. I knew there was more to my future than what I was living, so I kept working hard."

While searching for an elective class during this time, she came across a one-credit, 20-hour IMPACT self-defense class that could be done over a weekend. That single credit changed her life forever. It helped give her the confidence to leave her abusive relationship and inspired her to bring IMPACT classes to other Native women in her community.

I walked into class on a Friday thinking that I would simply learn how to handle a person trying to rob me, and I walked out on a Sunday evening with a voice so powerful that I could handle the most passive attacks to my being, along with physical attacks."

It didn't take long for her to notice the difference the class was making in her life.

"I was setting boundaries and people were either respecting them or not, but I was able to acknowledge who was worth keeping in my life and who wasn't," she says.

Following the class, she also joined a roller derby league where she met many other powerful women who inspired her — and during that summer, she found the courage to leave her abuser.

"As afraid as I was, I finally had the courage to report the abuse to legal authorities, and I had the support of friends and family who provided comfort for my children and I during this time," she says.

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via Wikimedia Commons and Pexels

Bennett Madison, the author of several young adult novels, had something he needed to get off his chest, and he let it all out in a Gawker article on Monday. Madison has been submitting fake letters to "Dear Prudence" Slate's advice column over the past few years and 12 were published.

"Dear Prudence" is a popular advice column currently penned by Jenée Desmond Harris, that appears in Slate and has been syndicated in over 200 newspapers. The name was inspired by a Beatles song written by John Lennon.

Madison admits he submitted about two dozen letters from "burner email accounts" over the last few years.

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