Being a vendor at a baseball game sounds like the worst job imaginable. Wearing one of those pathetic vendor uniforms and walking up steps in the blistering heat shouting at people who just want you to go away sounds more to me like a punishment than a career choice. The only job that would suck more is being one of those hipsters who try to stop you on the street to get you to sign their ‘save the kale leaves’ petition. “Got a minute to talk about kale?” Actually, I couldn’t be more available. But I’d rather light myself on fire than listen to you drone on about saving salads.
So getting drilled in the head while you’re just trying to unload some popcorn off your tray and then having it rocket into outerspace so assholes like me can blog about it is something this dude will probably keep off his resumé.
(Guys, sorry for my pessimistic tone, I could not be more hungover.)