Earthman gained his nickname one stony night 22 years ago when he announced, "If it's from the earth, man, I'll smoke it." Vending is something he picked up part-time in 1984 after working construction jobs and managing a record store in North Dakota. Earthman estimates he now vends between 340 and 350 events a year. "I make more money than a plumber, and I don't have to show crack."
Despite his colorful ways, Earthman has never been approached for promotional gigs and he doesn't plan to seek out a deal anytime soon. "I think it would be real cool if it happens, of course. But my philosophy is, 'If it happens, it happens--cool.' I won't go chasing it."
Vendor supervisor Tim Champagne says that even on rainy days, Earthman chooses to work in the outfield bleachers instead of the partially covered first deck. "He's not here just for his sales," Champagne says. "He's here for the fans as well, which makes him unique."
Earthman could have been called the Susan Lucci of vendors, but Lucci finally received an Emmy this year.
Besides competing for beer sales, vendors compete for a chance to win a free trip to the annual All-Star game. Aramark has vending contracts with ten baseball stadia across the country, and when Aramark ballparks host the All-Star game, as is the case this year, the company selects two vendors from each stadium to represent its team. On Tuesday, red-white-and-blue buntings will line the infield at Boston's Fenway Park. Two vendors from Coors Field will be there.
"That's what everyone wants to go to," says Earthman, who, despite being adored by fans and respected by his peers, has yet to win the honor.
Hopeful All-Star vendors must write an essay, receive votes from their peers and receive the approval of Aramark management. Bob the Beerman was selected for the All-Star game in Pittsburgh in 1994. But this year, for the fifth year in a row, Earthman was overlooked for the All-Star game. "I know I'll go to an All-Star game one day--even if I have to send myself," he says.
"It's not that Earthman didn't meet the criteria," Champagne says. "It's that others exceeded the criteria."
In her winning essay, Shellie Marino told the story of overcoming the verbal harassment from the male vendors, how she increased her sales and how she earned the respect of her co-workers.
"Winning the respect of some of the veterans was not easy," she wrote. "I was determined to prove that I was just as good as any of them. After a whole season of hauling Coke and not making very much money, I returned to the surprise of many. That season I became the 'Beer Goddess' and consistently maintained a competitive status in sales for the whole season. Some of them claim it is because I'm young and female and with the right anatomy. But I believe it's my enthusiasm, character and the little bit of attitude I give that win me the loyalty of fans and customers game after game."
And Marino didn't just vend. She also worked with Aramark to set up concession stand #157 to raise money for the school where she teaches.
"What set Shellie apart was also her work with a nonprofit concession stand," says Carl Mittleman, Aramark division manager for concessions. "That's very unique."
But vendors grumbled that Marino was chosen. The other selection, Vince the Vendor, had been widely approved by the veteran vendors, but they said that Marino was too new; she'd worked at the stadium for just three seasons and was still in the third deck. Others complained that she hadn't worked enough games this season to earn the honor.
Marino says the sniping didn't get back to her--except the one about women selling more than men, which has long busted the peanuts of male vendors.
Except for Bob.
According to his lawsuit, Bob's trademarked character has "somewhat of a sex appeal and a definite celebrity appeal; a number of Coors Lights spots likewise play upon the Beer Man's sex appeal and notoriety."
In his book, Bob tells a few hey-dude stories and gives advice on how vendors score at the ballpark.
First, Bob writes that fellow vendors who are married do the "pre-screening" of the "prospective victims" in the seats.
"People of the opposite sex are rated on a four-level scale," Bob writes. "A one--go by the seat, look, and ogle discretely [sic]. Usually mirrored Ray Ban sunglasses help. Drool a little, but don't slobber, it makes a mess of your uniform. Then pour a beer for a person two rows in front of the prospective victim so you can prolong the gaze. Then keep moving. But make sure to pass by every inning. A two--go by the seat, look, smile warmly, then let the old charm take over. From there, it's wherever fate lands. A three does not need fate. It's go by the seat, look, ask what the person does for a living, and set a dinner date for the first Friday evening there's no scheduled home game. Never suggest to a three to meet her at Brooklyn's after the game."
