Ice cream truck

There’s an ice cream truck that circulates in our neighbourhood on sunny summer days, which typically causes one of two reactions in the general adult public. Reaction 1: nostalgic tears spring to your eyes as you lean out onto your doorstep to watch the neighbourhood children toddle after the slow-moving musical freezer on wheels, a loonie clutched in their sweaty little hands. Reaction 2: you try to fling yourself off of the highest altitude location in your residence to stop the ear-piercing agony of the Piano Man Re-mix: fucked-up boogaloo.

In our house, the typical reaction is that Paul’s head snaps up and (I swear) his ears perk up like a hound on the hot scent of a criminal. The words ‘ice cream truck’ leap unbidden to his lips and he’s at least four steps towards the door before he comes to his senses. I typically start laughing, not at Paul, but at the fond memories of my post-university roommate’s ongoing battle with the ice-cream truck.

We lived together on the 9th floor of a University area high-rise apartment complex which the ice-cream trucks frequented regularly (the street out front, not our 9th floor apartment). Doug was a textbook reaction type 1: nostalgic joy and the burning desire for just one more Rocket Popsicle frozen to his lips to cap off his summer experience. I was more type 2: “Does that bloody thing have to drive so slowly? Surely it must be out of earshot by now!”

The first time we heard that haunting Piano-man remix, Doug checked his pocket for change and wandered to the elevator. I didn’t even look up from my book. He was back within minutes empty handed. “I couldn’t hear it anymore from the main doors.” The second time the truck went past, Doug dove for his change and sprinted for the stairs. I sauntered out onto the balcony to watch him chase the snail’s-pace treats down the street. Sure enough, the truck was out of sight by the time he reached the road. He returned to the apartment empty handed, strategizing for the next appearance. There was a third performance, later in the season, but as before he came no closer to attaining frozen treat nirvana. From then on, when the ice cream truck went past Doug would just go out onto the balcony to shake his fist and mutter obscenities in its general direction.

Most people mature a bit after University but with the help of the ice cream man Doug went straight from carefree youth to crotchety old curmudgeon. At least that’s my best explanation and I'm sticking to it.(Happy Birthday Doug!)