Sun 3-15-2009 I Hate the Ice Cream Man!

Sun 3-15-2009 The Ides of March

Score One for Our Side
When I was younger, I developed a real dislike for the ice cream who cruised our neighborhood trying to hawk his wares at the most inopportune times. Such as 9:30 PM at night right in front of my house in the cold, in Chicago, in March. The bells ringing from his truck, playing their gay and annoying songs, used to blow me out of bed just after I had passed out from the prescription meds I used nightly as a sleep aid. You really shouldn’t agitate a groggy and generally pissed off kid with anger management issues. It’s just not a good idea.
I would get my revenge, beginning back in grammar school, with the following tactic. We had another ice cream man who would annoy us during recess in the spring months as well. You just couldn’t get away from these fucking guys. I guess in the mid-eighties, pedophilia was considered a growth enterprise. During lunch hour, we would play softball in the parking lot outside of school while the ice cream man sat there parked, playing his gay tunes over and over again. He must have thought we were 6 year olds or something instead of 13, but he was obviously a slow learner, because nobody from my school ever bought anything from his truck the whole time I was in school there.
Anyway, on a number of occasions, I would be up to bat and he would be parked at the far end of the property with his serving counter window open for business. I would always try to hit the softball through the window, aspiring to nail him in the junk. What can I say – I was a real prick as a kid. Did I mention my anger issues? I still remember with vivid fondness the day I was finally successful. I walloped the ball through the window and hit Mr. Ice Cream Man right in the leg. From across the parking lot you could hear a small voice say “Owww!”. Everyone on my team cheered my exceptional athletic ability, which is the only time in my entire life that that has ever happened. I did a victory lap around the bases “Chariots of Fire” style, clasping my arms together above from head from side to side in the tradition of Roman Gladiators. NB Zero/Freestyle.