how i creep out even the tingting man.

a few weeks back, the husband of a friend posted something on facebook regarding what everyone used to call the guy who drives the ice cream truck:  the tingting man or the ice cream man or what?  and i was all, those guys are real people? i thought they were some kind of legendary figure, the kind that started out as some guy with a fifties haircut and a skinny tie driving down the road eating an ice cream cone.  and now, fifty years later, that guy has been exaggerated with our nostalgia for all things pleasantville and utopian until we're all like, 'i heard there used to be a guy who would drive a WHOLE TRUCK full of ice cream and all you had to do was stand on the street and he'd give you some and his truck played MUSIC and everything!'

to say i was shocked that an actual ice cream guy ever existed is an understatement.  (and the schwann's guy doesn't count.)  (and also, if i had known this in the nineties when it really would have mattered, i would have called him the ice cream man, not the tingting man.)

i have mentioned before that our town is pretty awesome and kind of pleasantville itself (a tree lighting ceremony where santa goes up in the basket of a utility truck to chuck pingpong balls at wide-eyed children?  that has 'fifties america' written all over it).  but never in a million years did i ever think i'd see this:

now, this isn't a great picture, and i'll tell you why.  first, because when i took the picture we were driving.  second, because as we drove past a curbful of children by the ice cream truck i probably looked like i was photographing the children and not the truck.  and that's never good.  so i did it as quick and matter-of-fact as possible. and third, because we drove by a second time, and we were starting to look like creepers.  so we clicked and dashed and hoped we wouldn't end up in the paper.

THEN.  the ice cream truck (which, i would like to point out, looks like a converted handicapped bus) drove past our house.  i dashed out to get a picture, and that poor ice cream guy thought i was in the market for a cold-something-on-a-stick-or-in-a-cone, so he slowed down.  i took a picture and dashed inside, leaving the tingting man lonelier and a quarter poorer than he would have been if i had been in the mood for a cold-something-on-a-stick-or-in-a-cone.

creepiness PWND.  van voorsts take gold.


YAYA said...

When I was a kid the ice cream truck would drive down our street, usually in the late afternoon or early evening and EVERY KID (there were enough of us in 1 block to make 2 full baseball teams on summer evenings)EVERY KID would rush from whatever we were doing just to catch a glimpse.

Some of us would stand in awe as he sold those wonderful frozen treats to what seemed like every other kid on the block. It was an event, and even if we didn't get our own ice cream, just seeing that guy in his white truck and white coat, peddling ice cream, WOW!

It was only on THE MOST special occassion that Kristen and I could stand in line with our own 10 cents and ponder the endless choices listed on the poster board. Oh, my those were the best days E.V.E.R - when we got to buy our own ice cream from a truck in front of our house. I LOVE YOUR TOWN!

The Crislers said...

We have an ice cream van (which is never going to be as cool as an ice cream truck, no matter how whimsical its paint job) that drives through town every Saturday and Wednesday. But a quarter? More like $3.50 for a popsicle, which is why our kids never get ice cream unless their grandparents are in town.