Brain Freeze

I scream.

You know those trucks with the tinkling bells that you used to love to buy ice cream from during the summer when you were a kid? The one’s that sell sundaes, rocket ices and strawberry shortcake sticks to name a few? The very same trucks that now drive around town dispensing crappy ‘soft’ ice cream to all those crazy kids who are always messing up your lawn, looking for trouble or making a ‘racket’ at all hours?

Yeah, those trucks.

Well, I was walking down the street yesterday when I came upon one outside of a playground dispensing its delicious treats to all the small children and their parents. It was obvious by the sweat dripping down the VERY large ice cream truck drivers’ brow that he had been there for a while and, since it was just early afternoon, he would certainly be there for a few hours more. He looked tired, hot and maybe even a tad unhappy to be stuck in such a small space on such a hot day.

And that’s when it hit me.

This guy, who was handing out unsealed, open and edible foodstuff to young children on a hot day, was trapped. He was stuck in a cage with wheels, unable to escape for even a moment of time. How long is his shift? What happens if he needs to take a five minute break from the screaming brats gathered around his window? What does he do for a lunch? What about if he smokes? Is there a way for him to wash his hands after wiping the hot, sticky sweat from his brow? What, oh dear lord, what does he do when he needs to go to the bathroom?!

Oh. My. God.

I’m never eating Mr. Softee again. Ever.