By now, you’ve probably all seen the footage of an Astros vendor bringing his snow cones into the bathroom, setting them down on the floor of the stall, and letting nature take its course.
Today, after being fired by the club, he speaks out:
Hey there. I’m Ted, the Snow Cone guy. That’s actually what my friends and family call me, Ted, the Snow Cone guy. I know a lot of you think that this is a big joke or, conversely, a public health issue up there with Upton Sinclair’s ‘The Jungle’ and let me tell you—I get it. But you’re wrong.
Let me ask you a question: have you ever served Snow Cones before? And served them at the highest level? Because I have and it’s different. Sure, maybe you man the Snow Cone machine at the “Fun and Games Carnival Night” at your daughter’s elementary school, but this is real. This is thousands of people, charging at you once, paying $5.75 for Snow Cones.
Yeah, that’s right, $5.75. Why are they so expensive? The damn service and the high quality ingredients. Sure, you can get a $2.00 snow cone, but what are you really getting? You’re getting ice, and syrup. No service, no pizzazz. But me, I’ve been training for decades for this. With me, a pro, you get perfectly shaved ice that’s a refreshingly cold 22 degrees. Your syrups are perfectly divided into three quadrants: tart blue raspberry, tangy lemon, and sweet cherry, each mingling with each other and nipping at your taste buds. And when I serve it to you, you know that you’ve just had a cosmic connection with another human being.
My grandfather was in the snow cone game, my father was in the snow cone game, and now I am. Hell, I had to work my way up, selling sodas in rookie balls with two dozen people in the stands to hawking personal-sized pizzas in Poughkeepsie. I busted my butt to get where I am and I take nothing for granted.
So when you see me run to the bathroom, pants at my ankles, snow cones on the floor, don’t deign to think I’m not concerned about your safety, your enjoyment of a Snow Cone. That’s all I’m thinking about. Ever. When I sleep: snow cones. When I’m awake: snow cones.
But, sadly, I’m not made of ice. I’m made of flesh and blood and waste byproduct. And while my first duty is to you, the snow cone consumer, sometimes that other duty calls. Doodie.
I look forward to serving you soon,
Former Snow Cone rep for the Houston Astros