I've never lived in a neighborhood that is so persistently and irritatingly "serviced" by a crappy jingle tinklin' ice cream truck hawking crappy frozen treats day in and day out. All summer long.
There was one point today where that damned truck was parked down the street, with the jingle a'jinglin' away, for the better part of an hour and a half. It finally headed up the street and off to other neighborhoods to pester and not five minutes passed before another truck pulled it. It was from a different ice cream place but it played the exact same tune. Again and again and again.
I don't know if it bothers other people or if they even notice it. But I do. I can hear that truck now, in my head, at 1 in the morning. I know it will be back tomorrow. I know that it will take hours for it to crawl through my neighborhood and I'll be treated to its gay little tune cheerfully announcing its presence.
Yeah! Oh boy, frozen confections made with corn syrup and artificial colors and flavors. A scene repeated every day for an entire summer, a classic and never ending scene of child or children asking parent or parents for money to go and buy from the ice cream truck. Dads slowly driven to insanity by that tinkling tune that is driven into their skulls like a musical spike. Moms lobotomized over a summer of the numbing mindless jingle being forced over and over upon a populance that is powerless in its relentless indominability.
As it is, I see that bastard truck roll slowly, ever so slowly by, and I think just how easy it would be hit it with an RPG.
Then maybe we'd have a quiet Sunday afternoon.
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