Thursday, April 19, 2007

Three Blind Mice

That is the song the ice cream truck plays as it drives up and down my street. Every. Single. Day.

I remember being a kid and almost pissing myself when the ice cream man drove around the neighborhood, and I wasn't alone in my sentiments. If it happened once a week, we considered ourselves blessed. No, I think it is safe to say that he maybe came around once a month. Boy, when he did, the entire neighborhood would whip themselves into a frenzy. We'd stop whatever we were doing and race home to beg and plead with our parents to give us some money so we could go buy something...anything.


Sometimes, we would get money. Sometimes, Mom would fish around in the freezer for some ice cream confection she bought at the grocery store. While reasonable adults would say it's the same damn thing, children would argue that it's not. It was totally and completely different.
For one thing, ice cream from home didn't have all those ice crystals on it the way the stuff from the ice cream man did. Which is funny because a lot of crap that has been sitting in my freezer for months has the same ice crystals on it. Go figure.

In my old age, I have come to view the ice cream truck with a certain degree of scrutiny. Not to mention that the song annoys the piss out of me as I can't seem to get it out of my head long after the truck has gone. He drives by everyday, and I have yet to see the flock of children come storming out of their houses like they had been shot out of a cannon.
I also secretly think that people who drive ice cream trucks are child molesters or something. See...told you I was getting old. Stay away from the Ice Cream Man, kiddies. He's got a secret stash of porn hidden under the orange dreamsicles.
Three Blind Mice...Three Blind Mice...


"The D" said...

I hate to bust your bubble Heather but, as a child that grew up here in KCK everyone knows that the ice cream truck drivers hid their porn under the Push-ups NOT under the orange dreamciles (whatever they are). And no mater what the drivers looked like they were all named Chester.

Xavier Onassis said...

I used to drive an Ice Cream Truck.

Does that pretty much confirm your worst fears? LOL!

I didn't have music. I was "old school". We rang a bell.

We were taught to ring it loud, ring it hard, and drive slow. Give those kids as much time as possible to drive their parents INSANE until they finally coughed up some money.

I had a kid bring out 23 Mercury head dimes that he had obviously raided from his dad's coin collection just so he could buy a couple of bomb pops for him and his best friend.

I took his dad's dimes and turned them into a really studly hatband for my mid-seventies Urban Cowboy Hat. Kid probably got his ass kicked. What the fuck do I care?

God, but those sun bathing, bikini-clad moms were hot.

Faith said...

Mine plays "Pop Goes the Weasel" *AND* rings a bell. He hasn't come around yet this year, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time with the weather being the way it is now.

Ew. I just thought about how "Pop Goes the Weasel" fits in to the icky pervy ice cream man thing. Bleh. (Good thing I'm non-dairy!)

Mrs. McMitchell said...

In Scotland they come around at night. About 9pm EVERY night. And the parents all run out to chase him because they sell ciggies. Isn't that insane? One of the many reasons I thought Scotland was a screwed up place to live.

btyfrd said...

A cigarette truck? Man, that is awesome...I need to move to Scotland.

Anywho. When I was growing up, the thing played the first few bars of "the entertainer" and by the time it was leaving the hood, even the kids were happy to have that music floating away with it.