I think that this lack of an ice cream truck in my childhood led to an obsession during my adulthood. Like seriously obsessed. To the point where I had no shame (or rather I didn't even think about it) when running outside in my slippers to chase the truck down.
|Stop, ice cream truck! via
When we lived in the Bronx, we lived in a pretty residential area. Our house was right across from a Catholic school, one block from the projects, and one block from an amazing pizza place. The ice cream truck always stopped in front of the pizza place, in front of the projects, and near the school, but never on our block. So when I would hear the music, I knew I didn't have long to run out and chase the truck.
A couple of times when I couldn't find the truck, I would get in my car and drive around until I found it. No matter who was in the car. More than once I kidnapped LoLo and took him on a wild ride to find the ice cream truck. I told you, obsessed.
When I would find the truck, sometimes I had to stalk the truck. Sometimes I had to follow it for a few blocks before he would pull over.
And sometimes, I had to sneak around him and cut him off and park right in front of him to make him stop. Because ice cream is that important to me.
I will say though, whenever I hear the music, I stop whatever I'm doing and check for the door. Ask my co-workers. They laughed at me when I jumped up from my desk and ran to the window to find the truck. Unfortunately though, my desk is on the 5th floor and no matter how slow that truck is driving, I would never catch it.
Mister Softee, if you can hear me, can you drive your truck up to Maine??? Pleeeeeeease? With a cherry on top???