The following story is pretty much guessable from the above title. But read it anyway if you so desire.
So there I was, minding my own business, cleaning my toilet bowl, when I hear a familiar tune. The Entertainer. Now, as everyone knows, the only practical use for that song is luring children to childcatchermobiles or ice cream trucks. In this case, the latter.
I wash my hands, run to the door, and realize that ice cream men most likely only take cash. Smart Noah. So I run to my room looking for coins of any kind. None. I see the ice cream man get in the driver’s seat.
Mom! Do you have any change?
She tells me to check her purse. I madly start throwing things about looking for quarters. 25 cents… 50 cents… The ice cream man puts his truck into gear. I frantically look for more coins. 35… 60… 85… 1.20… 1.30… I run out side to see the ice cream man driving away.
I wave my arms desperately. Surely he can’t get away with this. There must be something in the ice cream man code about not depriving the good people of the US of A of their ice cream. I run towards him, chasing him down the street. This is very dangerous, children, and should not be attempted at home. He begins to brake.
I order a fudge bar. Tears of joy appear in my eyes as my efforts are finally rewarded. I walk back in the house with a sense of pride and accomplishment. I glance out the window. The ice cream truck stopped next door, waiting for more customers. I chased him down, and he was stopping in front of every house on the street.
The things I do for ice cream.
