Head injuries

The huge press box was packed. The game wouldn't start for at least an hour, so Rock sat in a hospitality area with a plate loaded with onion rings, jalapeno poppers, and fried chicken wings. As he ate he noticed a blonde-headed boy about ten years old approach the deep fryer, which was set up in the middle of piles of fried food.
The fryer was empty of anything but sizzling oil, and the boy looked into it with a curious expression. Then, to Rock's horror, he fully submerged his head into the grease.
There were no signs of damage immediately after the boy pulled his head from the fryer, but his face was unnaturally and eerily pale, nearly white, almost as if it had been bleached.
Rock didn't have a cell phone with him and rushed to a group of older men on the other side of press box. "Does anyone have a phone I can use? We have a medical emergency."
As Rock dialed 911, he turned to see the boy had begun to vomit across the table, onto the food and Rock's equipment bag. Before an operator answered, he realized he didn't know know what town he was in. "What's the address of this press box?" he asked.
Of course no one knew. No one ever knows the address of stadiums. The men looked at Rock with barely disguised indignity and contempt. "Just tell her it's at the football stadium," one of them said.
Rock was embarrassed to have to ask the name of town but knew he had no choice.