![]() They must have thought me completely mad, but they were so unbelievably sweet and accommodating, and I believe that they enjoyed the fact that their service had been validated as one that was appreciated. “I grew up on a farm! I’ve never bought ice cream from a truck!” I raced up to the truck, a giddy little girl who was gushing to the driver and the woman distributing the goodies. The music was becoming faint and the oddest panic overwhelmed me as I went flying out my front door to catch the truck before it vacated my neighborhood street.įinding the vehicle stopped less than a block away and servicing a small boy, I stepped up my pace with an enthusiasm that electrified me.įor the first time in my life, I was going to buy ice cream from a truck. Wasting little thought and ever so briefly delaying my shower, I grabbed my wallet and removed every bill that it held. I equate ice cream to sex: it’s all good. If you are what you eat, my son is a Dairy Queen parfait. When I was pregnant with my soon-to-be 10-pound child and my stomach was crammed up into my throat to make room for the growing love inside me, I could digest very little. I’m quite convinced that it is a staple upon which I could base my existence. I will be the first to admit great surprise in finding the decent quality of food a roaming restaurant has to offer.īut an ice cream truck is a completely different and unique animal. And though, mostly stupidly expensive, I actually really enjoy ordering food from them. I’ve seen tons of food trucks that have become the go-to fad in the last few years. I have never actually seen one in real life. You would have thought that someone was knocking on my door to announce to me that I had just won the lottery. ![]() It was one week ago on a Saturday night as I was getting ready to explore my new music venue that the unmistakable music was loud, clear, and enticing right out my front door. Many were the occasions, that fell victim to laziness, that I fought temptation just to jump in my car and hunt the damn thing down for no other reason than my peace of mind. Though the mysterious vehicle never seemed to reach my street, its blaring tunes alerted the neighborhood residents to its presence. Months passed but not did a day without hearing the same haunting echo at the same time every day. There couldn’t possibly be an ice cream truck roaming the suburban streets, selling their sweet and chilling wares. Having been the holidays, I chalked the sound up to a decoration or display that a nearby neighbor must have had in their yard, and one that came to life as darkness set in. How many blocks away? The tinkling, off-key melody got louder and louder as the truck would seemingly get closer and closer. I didn’t grow up – nor have I ever lived – in an area where one was anything but a quaint memory of a by-gone era.įive o’clock exactly. It was nearly five months ago when I heard the annoying, tinny, poorly-duplicated renditions of the Christmas carols. I don’t mind grocery shopping all that much, but I am overly-guilty of committing the cardinal sin of shopping out of desperation when there is not a morsel left in the house and my insides are eating me alive. I admit that I will occasionally succumb to the command, but the event is rare. ![]() We sit on our ever-expanding backsides to avoid the commute, the people, and the hassle. In an age where front-door fast food and grocery delivery service has become prolific, we grow lazier and lazier as a society continuously commanding convenience. Sometimes, we would get chicken strips or ice cream “drumsticks” that barely had enough time to stay crystallized before we inhaled them. ![]() And though it provided all the fresh garden vegetables, apples from an orchard, and livestock freshly butchered for meat we could possibly want there was a frozen food truck from a company called Schwan’s that would stop on occasion to sell pizzas, ice cream novelties, and a plethora of other menu selections.Īs a teenager, I gorged on their mini-pepperoni pizzas and they sold a cherry nut ice cream that was always my father’s favorite. I grew up on a farm in the middle of nowhere.
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