Sporting food vendors deserve respect too

By Mark Levitt

Published Sept. 4, 2008

The sports world needs to declare a National Thank Your Food Vendor Day. Most fans recognize the concession stand as the home of the most overpriced food in America. They accept that there is nothing they can do to avoid the guy who is incapable of walking past the line without spilling his beer on everybody he passes (I've long given up wearing new shoes to games). Lines are long. The game is being played. Needless to say, these poor fans get upset waiting for their hot dogs, wanting to get back to the action. After a while the line starts sounding a lot like a classroom full of first graders waiting for snack time. People are hungry. They are crabby. Somebody's cutting in front of somebody else. Come on guys, hands to yourself. Like any other fan, I went through this same process this past Saturday at the Missouri-Illinois football game in St. Louis. When I eventually reached the front of the line I engaged in conversation with a lady in her 30s taking my order. "13 bucks for a hot dog and a water?" I asked. "That's pretty steep for a college student." "Honey, that's steep for workers like us too," she said. That's when I realized how selfish the rest of the fans and I were being. Yes, long lines and expensive food is inconvenient, but nobody has ever stopped to think about the smiling faces that meet us when we make our way to the front. These people have the worst jobs in sports. While fans spend the vast majority of their time watching an entertaining competition, the workers behind the counter spend all of their time serving us. Fans choose when to go purchase food. The only thing the vendors choose is whether to put the cheese on top of the nachos or on the side of them. The men and women behind the counter are found at the Super Bowl, the World Series and the NBA Finals. They don't pay a dime and get into the Stanley Cup, the Indianapolis 500 and the U.S. Open. They are so close to the action it must hurt, because as close as they are, they never see one touchdown, one pitch or one basket. I don't feel bad for the Patriots that Eli Manning ruined their perfect season in a manner of minutes. I feel bad for the person who was serving a pretzel to some fan when the crowd erupted when the game-winning touchdown was scored. Everybody in America saw it happen - except the vendors. It's bad enough they can't watch the game. But because there is such a limited space to cook and so many different grills to counter the growing appetite in America, the workers operate in an area that is equivalent to a sauna. Next time you go to a game, notice the sweat these people bathe in from the opening tip until the final buzzer. The lady who served me at the Edward Jones Dome on Saturday was sweating more than Quin Snyder did during games after the Ricky Clemons saga. Stop worrying about Chase Daniel or Sean Weatherspoon cramping on a hot September afternoon and buy the nearest vendor a bottle of water. I am not writing to admonish fans for being blind to the struggles of the people who serve us food. I am as guilty as the next person. Just keep in mind the people you are buying from did not make up the ridiculous prices. In fact, many of them can't even afford the food they are selling. Don't complain. Don't whine. Just say thank you.