The Ice Cream Truck

It's finally looking like winter has let go. All kinds of animals are showing up after long winter's naps and trips to Mexico. Birds, prairie dogs, ice cream trucks...
For some, the ice cream truck is a fond memory of childhood or a tasty slice of Americana. I am not one of those people.

My first real exposure to an ice cream truck came in May of 2003. Yes, that's right. I only had fleeting contact and dim awareness before then. I grew up in northern Vermont... I lived on a dirt road that at one time connected on little village to another little village. When I lived there, it lead from a one little village to a sight that said something to effect of "U.S. Army Installation. Keep out. We shoot big guns here all the time." The sign was not really needed since you could hear the Vulcan 20mm cannons burping away and 120mm HE rounds whumping the hell out of the hills. That's where we lived. If we wanted ice cream, we'd walk to the general store. It was nice, I liked it. Now you see my perspective.

In May 2003, I was in Texas... San Antonio... Lackland AFB. It's where all Airmen get their basic training. The Air Force calls it BMT. In BMT, aspirant Airmen get to spend a lot of time marching, standing, and exercising on a vast expanse of asphalt and concrete called a drill pad. It is not a place feels much like any kind of pad, but there is definitly a lot of drill going on. Now, when you are standing in the middle of a pack of fifty-odd men, it's not comfy. Add dark uniforms, superconducting boots, blazing sun, and little wind and it's miserable. Put all that on either mirror-like concrete or burning charcol-like asphalt and really sucks. Did I mention that it's also really humid? So I'm standing there, not used to Texas weather at all, sweating my nuts off, when I hear it...

I'd heard an ice cream truck once or twice before. I'd been at my friend's house in Colorado Springs when I heard a loud, poorly tuned, music box with a bit of a warble to it. It was playing something really intensely irritating. I asked what the hell it might be and my friend told me about this wierd truck that was loaded with ice cream and that kids would go buy from the driver. It struck me as creepy even then... and I had not even seen the driver...

...I'm out there, bored out of my skull, mad as hell at most of my flight for being so dense and slow, irritated at my weak-minded and ill-tempered TI, miserable in the baking heat with basting humidity, and I hear the ice cream truck. It was playing a super slow, extra crappy version of "The Entertainer." It sounded like something from a killer clown flick... but I knew what the cargo was. Cold... sweet... creamy... It could have been Good Humors or crappy knock offs, just the thought of some nice, cold, ice cream... it began to drive me nuts. That truck was patrolling just the other side of the fence, seemingly never leaving the one street that was nearest... taunting... tantalizing... Yeah, I'd have braved killer clowns for some ice cream about then.

The next day, at 1500, it was back... It was there every day I was out on that pad, its sweet cargo taunting me, its obnoxious and creepy music driving me nuts... Some say that in BMT, you'll like any music you get to hear because it's music. Well, to a point. I liked the country our good TI kicked when we were folding clothes... and I HATE country. I liked the raps that some guys in the bay did... and I LOVE country compared to rap. THIS music, though, was not nice in the slightest. It was awful. I began to fantasize about the effects of various projectiles and bombs on a thin-skinned ice cream truck. How long would it take for me to destroy it with an M60? Where would be good spot to hit it with a grenade? How cool would it be to watch it play chiken with an AT-4 rocket? Yeah, I was bit disturbed.

BMT seems like a lifetime ago. Now I'm married, long gone from the dorms, and I live in a tasteless subdivision... at least I bought when the market was cratered... there are no less than six distinct ice cream trucks that prowl these streets. SIX! Each has its own annoying song, each has a unique "Chester Molester" van with kid bait theme... and the drivers are all creepy looking, like they are trying too hard to appeal to kids. I don't think I'd let my kid anywhere near them. Fortunatly, that's not an issue at the moment.

In 2003, I couldn't spend a miserable afternoon of drill without being tormented by the damned ice cream truck. Now it's 2010 and six of them pester me while I'm doing yard work.
Lovely.