As we sat at Russell House eating lunch last Friday, my friends and I discussed what we might want to do that night. We could go downtown or stay in -- then we received a text from our brother, saying, “I need six guys to sell cotton candy at the monster truck rally tonight.”
We debated it for all of a minute before we volunteered to do it. Free entrance into a monster truck rally and the chance to make some money? Why not? I had never been to an event like this, so I was willing to do it out of pure curiosity. Seeing monster trucks in person was mysterious enough to me, but the chance to hawk cotton candy like a vendor at a baseball game seemed like a good story waiting to happen.
We arrived to Colonial Life Arena that evening and were given our bright orange vendor shirts, adorned with monster truck graphics. After quickly being given a crash course in food vending, we were split into cotton candy sellers and snow cones sellers. I volunteered to sell snow cones (spoiler: this was one of the worst decisions I have made in life). We donned our black vendor hats, took the obligatory Snapchat videos, and headed to the entrances with our snow cone trays and cotton candy poles.
In addition to seeing the monster trucks, I was curious to see the variety of people who came to this kind of event. Monster truck rallies are not the most common form of entertainment, and I was sure that the attendees would be just as interesting as the rally itself.
At 8:30 p.m., on the dot, the gates opened and the most diverse group of people I had ever seen swarmed into the arena. I immediately began hawking my snow cones, trying to outsell my friends. It turned out to be much harder than I could have ever imagined. People would approach me and ask how much a cone was, and when I told them that the plastic cup of ice and syrup cost a whopping $20, they tended to laugh in my face and look for a cotton candy vendor. Knowing I only made $1 for every cone I sold, I knew I was in for a long night. The beginning of the rally did not help, either.
Once everyone found their seats, I began to walk up and down the arena stairs, trying my best to impersonate the brave souls who sold peanuts at MLB games. But, then, the rally actually started. With a roar so loud I was sure my eardrums would burst, the monster truck began to race and ride all over the dirt track. The people right next to me could not hear a word I was saying, nor did they care that I had overpriced snow cones for sale. With that, my sales fell from slightly above nothing to zero. I could not compete with gigantic trucks running over small cars.
Having had my confidence as a salesman torn into shreds, I turned my attention to the rally, as I was still curious to see what all these people were here for. It was about what I expected: a bunch of trucks with impossibly large tires driving around and over a small dirt track (to any die-hard monster truck fans out there, sorry if I have just offended you). While the trucks were impressive, I lost interest after a few minutes. I simply did not understand the allure of those trucks being obnoxiously loud and going over the same small ramp and pile of cars, over and over again.
In many ways, my night as snow cone vendor was a failure. I made almost no money, and my expectations for the main event fell flat. However, it was one hell of a unique experience. We got to see a monster truck rally for free, walked away with some money to spend downtown and a cool t-shirt, and had some funny memories to remember the night by. I also learned a very important lesson: if you ever are given the choice to sell snow cones or cotton candy, pick cotton candy every time.
