eleven dollars for a hot dog and the guy behind me paid TWELVE for a beer that's mostly foam and regret. eleven. I asked the kid at the register if that included a hug and he did not laugh, which tells you everything about morale in that building. this isn't concessions, it's a hostage negotiation with a soft pretzel as the proof of life. I'll pay for the ticket, I'll pay for parking, but charging me like I'm buying the whole cow for a hamburger is where I draw the line. bring cash in the 90s so you'd feel it leave your hand, now it's a tap and a prayer and you don't even flinch till the bank alert hits your phone in the third quarter. that's not a snack bar, that's a stickup with a menu board.