On a humid, lazy, summer afternoon in Suburbia, USA, the hazy streets are empty as all the idle children rest in their homes, freezing in those with air conditioning and melting in those without. The hours tick by slowly, and all is still.
Then, in the distance….
They hear it: The Call. Faintly at first, then not much louder as it approaches:
<Bing, bing-bing-bing-bing-bing, bing-bing, bing, bing-bing, bing-bing, bing>
One-by-one, ears perk up; heads peek out windows; and The Pleading begins:
“Can-I-have-some-money-for-the-ice-truck-please-please-please-please-PLEEEEAAAAAASSSSEEEEE?!!!!!”
“Yes, fine, take it, but no dessert tonight then.”
“Yayyyyyyyyyy – ohhhhhhhh – yayyyyyyy!!!!!”
The ice truck rounds the corner at the head of the block and stops halfway down as The Pediatric Swarm approaches; the music continues as Ice Truck Employee dutifully takes orders and money and hands over flavored ices to the little waiting hands, remembering an age when the thought of owning an ice truck all summer long was the height of cool.
“Ha!”
“What?”
“Nothing, kid – enjoy the ice, don’t play in the street, see you all tomorrow.” The ice truck is driven to the next block to repeat the ritual.
And so it goes, all summer long.
Until one day.
As the ice truck begins its usual approach down the block, in the distance at the other end an ice cream truck appears and begins its approach.
<Bing, bing-bing-bing-bing->
<Doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot, doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot, doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot>
The two trucks stop 10 feet apart, grille staring down grille. Between them on the sidewalk stand an expectant group of children, money in fists, and heads swinging back and forth between the two vehicles.
Ice Truck Employee leans out the driver’s side window to address Ice Cream Truck Employee: “You’re poaching, friend: this here’s Ice Truck Territory.”
Ice Cream Truck Employee leans out the driver’s side window and blows a disdainful bubble of gum: “I reckon this here’s Ice Cream Truck Territory now, friend.”
“Says who?”
“Says my truck being here, that’s who.”
Little heads swivel back to the ice truck for a response.
“Whelp,” Ice Truck Employee says while revving the engine, “suppose I reckon this block ain’t big enough for the both of us, partner.”
Ice Cream Truck Employee also revs the engine: “Suppose not. We could act like civilized human beings and call our respective Corporate offices to straighten out our distribution routes, but I saw we joust for it instead.”
“That is an excellent idea.”
Each truck beeps as they begin slowly reversing away from each other.
One child goes up to the ice truck and speaks through the permanently open passenger’s side window: “I actually want cups from both of your trucks – ”
“Stay out of this, Susie!”
Ice Truck Employee floors the gas to quickly reach the top of the street, puts on the parking brake, and starts to gather supplies. With a flash of headlights from each truck, they signal they are ready. The competing theme music tunes are blared at maximum volume from each truck’s rooftop speaker; tires squeal and spew smoke; and both trucks speed toward each other as their drivers lean out the windows, one foot stretched to depress the gas pedal. Ice Cream Truck Employee hauls out a lance made of stacked cones six feet long, topped by a giant scoop of blue raspberry/vanilla swirl; Ice Truck Employee also hauls out a lance, this one made of cups and topped with a chunk of lemon ice. Each lance topper is as hard as a rock.
Both Employees scream a battle cry in the key of their truck’s theme music and drive slightly to the side of each other so the trucks do not crash but their lances can reach the other’s face.
“Aaaaaahhhhh!” screams Ice Truck Employee.
“Aaaaaahhhhh!” screams Ice Cream Truck Employee.
“Aaaaaahhhh!” scream the children observers, already mourning the waste of the lance toppers.
<Bing, bing-bing-bing-bing> screams the ice truck speaker.
<Doot-doot-doot-doot-doot> screams the ice cream truck speaker.
The trucks pass, and each Employee whiffs their chance.
“Ohhhhhhh,” the children sigh in a mixture of relief and disappointment.
The trucks skid while turning to face each other again, the lance toppers wobbling dangerously. The Employees rev their engines anew.
“Best two out of three?” Ice Cream Truck Employee snarls.
“Bring it on!” Ice Truck Employee crows.
“HOLD IT!”
Contestants and spectators turn to face an unexpected and unwelcome group on the scene: Angry Parents
“What on Earth is going on here?!” Spokesparent demands.
“This doesn’t concern you, Meddling Sire!” Ice Cream Truck Employee shakes the lance at the new group, nearly dislodging the melting weapon.
“Listen pal, I called your boss: your route’s scheduled to come through here at 4:00 on a Sunday, you can come earlier on Saturdays, now beat it!”
Ice Cream Truck Employee turns to glare at Ice Truck Employee: “This isn’t over yet, comrade: we’ll meet again on the field of battle, and I will have vengeance!” Ice Cream Truck Employee draws the lance back inside the truck and begins licking the topper while executing a slow K-turn to exit the block, lowering the speaker’s music a smidgen on the way.
Ice Truck Employee turns to Spokesparent: “Thanks.”
“Don’t bother – I called your boss too, and you’re late for the rest of your route, plus you’re gonna get written up for wasting supplies and endangering the well-being of minors.”
“Oh.” Ice Truck Employee turns to the group of children: “Anyone still want an ice?”
They all raise their money fists into the air: “Yaaaaayyyyy!!!!”
“See – they’ll always love me.”
