Let me start by professing my love for ice cream men and their vessels. A few weeks ago, I was cruising down the highway on my way to Costco to grab a slice of pizza and a churro, -wait. Let me repeat myself. I was cruising down the highway on my way to Costco to grab a slice of pizza and a churro, when I looked to the left and noticed a whole fleet of ice cream men sailing down the L.I.E. There was a caravan of TWELVE ice cream men in a row! At that magical sight, I felt like the rotund little German boy who goes by the name of Augustus Gloop when he enters Willy Wonkas creepy-ass factory. I thought it was a mirage!
Now let me get real for a moment like Dr. Phil. We've all missed fly balls in the outfield during softball games because we've been too distracted by the ICM playing his Pied Piper music in the parking lot. After seeing the ICM slowly rolling down the street, we've all scoured our front yards on all fours for any lost change, similar to the way Rick Moranis scoured his lawn for his lost, miniature children in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. Little did he know they were busy getting it on inside of a Lego with the neighbor kids. But I digress. Basically, we've all fallen headfirst into that proverbial chocolate river at one point of another. Clearly, I am in support of consuming ice-products until your tongue is raw and the roof of your mouth stings. However, I recently had my first negative experience with an ICM since I discovered that they swapped the wooden scrapers that come with Marinos italian ices for plastic ones.
This afternoon, I'm driving down a residential street, when I come across an ice cream truck parked on the other side of the road. It had its little stop sign out, telling me to wait while a child finished selecting his or her frozen treat. No biggie. Oh, wait. Whats that, you say? There were NINE kids in line?! And I have to wait for all of these little jerk-asses to get their treats?! That is unreasonable. And quick question. It is 1:12 on a Wednesday afternoon, why are you all not in school?! Who do you think you are, Lil Wayne? Suri Cruise? GO TO SCHOOL. Go solve a proof. So after sitting in the luxury of my 1997 Nissan Altima for 47 seconds (which is longer than you think), I decided to channel my inner Fonzie or Danny Zuko and get rebellious. I slowly inched past the ice cream truck, making sure not to tap any of those uneducated tykes with my ride, and as I was almost completely in the clear, some mother standing on a stoop yelled out, "WAY TO FOLLOW THE LAW'S RULES!" Okay, first off, laws OR rules. Please pick one or the other. Second, leave me the hell alone. I need to get home so I can try to pry my mushed body out of my non-effective, imitation Spanx! Just incase that lady took down my license plate number and was going to report me to the feds, I went from Fonzie to Screech Powers and waited through two whole verses of a K-Ci and JoJo song until the runts were done. One day, I will exact my frosty revenge.
Hmmm, and maybe I wouldn't need the Spanx if I didn't like ice cream so much. Damn you, Augustus Gloop.