Reasons I know I don’t live in small-town-1950’s-americana

Because the ice-cream trucks around here are just plain creepy. How creepy?

  • instead of a cute white little cart-truck-thing, it’s a mid-nineties minivan.
  • instead of a pleasant, clean-shaven man with a jolly demeanor, it’s a scruffy older guy who is missing some of his front teeth.
  • instead of tin music-box strains heralding summer, it’s a cassette tape that’s been stretched out and is now blasting from some blown-out speakers.
  • instead of an ice cream cone, it’s a tiny frozen treat that costs as much a whole box of the same thing from the store down the street.
  • and the van is dirty,
  • and the man hasn’t showered in a week,
  • and you’re pretty sure he’s actually there to case the neighborhood,
  • and he smokes,
  • and his fingernails are probably dirty,
  • and I bet there’s some health code violation going on in the back with the whole freezer-in-the-back-of-an-old-mini-van-deal.