Ha. I hate getting hit by stray bits of food. I once sat in the front row of a play that had a small refrigerator right in front of where I was sitting. There was a lot of talk of food, and much opening and closing of the refrigerator, putting things in. As might have been predicted, the climax of the show involved stuff coming out of that refrigerator.
Dialogue that I've never forgotten from that play:
What's that smell in here?Do artichokes roll when they hit the pitched floor of a stage? Yes, so don't sit in the front row.
Artichokes, huh? Smells like stale piss. Never was big on vegetables myself. I'm a steak man. "Meat and blood," that's my motto. Keeps your bones hard as ivory.