When I was in college, I spent my summers working at a day camp for eight-year-olds. Each group had a bunch of college kid counselors and one head "counselor" who was an elementary school teacher trying to get some cash in the summer. The lead counselor in my specific group was named Grant, and most days after the kids left, he'd go into a bathroom, put on a bright yellow outfit, and take the train to Shea Stadium where he also worked as a hot dog vendor.
That wasn't necessarily for the extra cash: he'd been selling stuff at stadiums since high school and loved the experience. He spent his summer nights climbing stairs and watching his favorite baseball team for free, and just happened to also be dealing in hot dogs.
Hot dog vendor seems like a difficult job. It requires a lot of climbing and yelling and precise tossing ability. But if viewed with the romantic dint of my co-counselor, it could be the best job in the world.
Here is another person who thinks its the best job in the world:
An empty-ish Redskins stadium, and he plopped himself down and started chowing. Not in the upper deck behind some column where nobody could see him -- right in the front row behind the end zone. Not a care in the world, living the American dream, eating America's food and watching America's sport of choice.
And most importantly, he's doing the bravest thing any of us can do: cutting into Dan Snyder's bottom line. Bravo, sir.