ICE CREAM FOR EVERYONE: A SHORT STORY
A bead of sweat dripped down Tim’s neck as he thumbed through a battered book of recipes.
‘Celery… Onions… Carrots, diced in quarters…’
The tip of his ballpoint pen furiously scritched and scratched on the inside of a popsicle wrapper. He trailed a finger through the book and absently stuck the end of the pen in his mouth. He bit down and it burst in a gush of black ink.
‘God Dammit!’
A woman the size of a small sailboat, with loafers and a cheery striped shirt waddled towards him. Her equally chubby son toddled beside her. Tim scrambled to find his place in the book of recipes, while also trying to spit out the black ink. A small jaunty hat, which rested precariously on his head tilted forward at a crazed angle and managed to block his eyes. He cursed again.
‘We’ll have a red rocket popsicle and a dinosaur chocolate swirl.’
The woman glared at him as her son pulled on her shirt.
‘Momma, momma, he said a bad word.’
‘Sshhh…’ She looked back at Tim in his jaunty hat, ‘You know you really shouldn’t swear… especially in your profession.’
Tim sighed. Black ink stained his lips. He closed his book of recipes with a snap.
‘That’ll be $5.75 please.’
The woman handed him exact change and he reached into the freezer next to him, chock full of icy treats. He pulled out a slightly lopsided popsicle shaped like a space racer and a pterodactyl ice cream sandwich. They looked particularly pathetic.
‘Have a nice day now!’ He said, wiping his hands on his apron in distaste.
The woman waddled away with a sniff, and he reopened his book of recipes and looked around for his popsicle wrapper list.
It was gone.
The inside of his truck was small and there weren’t many places a popsicle wrapper could hide. He dropped to his knees and checked along the floor, crawling amidst the cold, metal doors and running his fingers along the knobby ground. Nothing under the fridge. He poked along the counter, checking behind the till and around the blender. He even checked inside the freezer. He pushed aside towers of icy treats. They collapsed in a puddle of rainbows and squashed joy.
He popped up in a panic. ‘Where is it?’
Movement caught his eye. A wrapper twisted in the parking lot and bounced towards the beach. His eyes widened. There!
Tim raced towards the back door of the truck. He reached for the handle, but the door swung outwards with a whoosh. A sweating, burly man pulled his great bulk through the door and into the tight space. An elephant in a matchbox. Tim took a surprised step back.
‘And where do you think you’re going?’
Behind the big man, Tim watched as the wrapper flitted farther and farther away. He took a step forward.
‘I just have to step out for a moment, Sir.’
‘And leave the truck unattended? What kind of help am I hiring nowadays?’
The bulky man reached over the much slighter man’s head and pulled down a clipboard.
‘You haven’t even updated your stock list!
‘Just a moment…’ Tim took a step towards the door, but his burly boss took a step forward.
‘Sit your ass down.’
Jimmy, the bullish boss, scratched his butt crack with one hand and ran his finger down the stock list with the other. He opened up the fridge. His eyes widened at the mess.
‘What’s this about?’
Dismayed, Tim looked out the window and watched as a teenager with bad acne and ratty shorts picked up his wrapper. His heart swelled… maybe…. The kid read the note on the inside and turned it over. Curious. He looked up and his eyes connected briefly with Tim, who started to reach out a hand.
‘Do you hear me Tim? I’m talking to you.’ Jimmy waved a hand in the air. ‘Hello?’
For a split second, Tim turned away from the kid and looked at his boss, who was standing over the open cooler of ice cream. Then his eyes flit back to the kid.
The acne prone teenager hawked his gum into the wrapper and threw it in the trash.
Tim’s shoulders sank. He turned back to his boss, who stood beside the cooler, sweat dripping down his hairy face and staining the collar of his deep, V-neck shirt.
‘I said – what is this mess?
‘I’m sorry, Sir.’
His boss shook his head.
‘There’s a reason we do these surprise inspections. We have to make damn sure that ‘Merry Tunes Treats’ are ship shape. You’re the outward facing element of our operation. You bring joy and icy treats to the masses. Without you there is no joy, there is no delight and most importantly, there is no money. We make the ice cream, and you sell the ice cream, with a god damn smile on your face. I come in here, and you have one foot out the door, your truck is a disaster and you look like someone stepped on your foot.’
‘I’m sorry, Sir.’
The burly man looked down at his watch and then back up at Tim.
‘You’re not clocking out until you inventory this whole truck. I want it driven back to the shop and cleaned out.’
He ran his finger along the counter, raised his hand and inspected a fine layer of dust on his fat finger. He sneered in disgust.
‘Deep cleaned.’
Tim looked up at the digital clock beside the till and then down at the book of recipes. Anxious seconds ticked by.
‘But I’m out in 5 minutes!’
His boss shrugged and turned away, hitching up his pants.
‘Not if you want a job.’
‘But it’s my anniversary! I promised I’d cook her dinner! Please, I’m begging you, I promised I’d be home.’
The big man turned and crossed his arms. They looked at each other in a silence that stretched like taffy. A minute passed. A fly buzzed in and out of the truck in a hurry and a sticky-fingered child wailed in the backseat of a car.
The slight man in the jaunty hat, trapped in the back of the truck by an ogre of a man gripped the counter until his knuckles whitened. He looked like a cornered animal priming to snap.
‘Please… Let me go…’
The big man shrugged and laughed.
‘No.’
Jimmy turned away and opened the door to the back of the truck.
Something deep and primal snapped in Tim. A hibernating bear awakened in a skinny man used to eating other people’s shit. He let loose a primal howl. Jaunty hat askew he launched himself at his bosses’ back and wrapped his arms around his throat, clawing at him.
‘YOU SON OF A BITCH!’
Shocked – the big man didn’t know what to do. He tried to shake him off, but Tim was everywhere all at once, scratching, clawing and yelling.
They tussled in the parking lot as beach goers looked on in unbridled curiosity. A busybody pushed her sunglasses down her nose to get a better view. Cars stopped. Children watched. One man pulled out his beach chair and sat down.
Tim clung to the bigger man’s shoulders like a cowboy on a raging bull. The Bull threw him against the ice cream truck trying to shake him. Bang. Bang. Bang. Tim’s neck snapped back and forth, his head swinging wildly.
Inside the truck a blender toppled over and flipped a switch. Merry tunes bubbled from the truck as the two men screamed and Tim was bucked off in a flurry. Dazed, the Bull turned around in a red haze of fury. Tim dashed back into the truck and slammed the door closed, locking it.
‘You crazy son of a bitch!’ Jimmy screamed
The big man threw himself at the door to the truck, shaking the whole Merry Container. BAM!
‘After I beat the shit out of you!’ He threw himself at the door again.
BAM!
‘And kick you in the nuts…’
BAM!
‘I’m going fire your ass up on the grill….’
BAM!
And serve it to your wife for your god damn anniversary dinner!’
BAM!
Tim threw open the cooler and started frantically pulling ice pops and ice cream sandwiches out, piling them up on the counter, as the whole truck shook and danced to the merry tune of the ice cream jingle. The door creaked ominously.
Tim turned and pushed the ice pops out the teller window. Stars, chocolate drumsticks and yellow hearts plopped, hissed and spit on the hot asphalt. The door crashed open and the Bull, heaving in a red rage threw himself into the tiny truck. Tim jumped onto the counter, and quick as a whip, pulled his skinny body out of the teller window and into the parking lot, where a woman was leaning on her beach umbrella and smoking a cigarette.
‘Excuse me Mam.’
He swiped the umbrella out from under her arm. She stumbled and cried out in confusion, tumbling head first into the pile of ice creams.
Umbrella in hand, Tim rushed around the back of the truck, and looked in at his burly boss who stood smushed in like a silly sardine. For a fleeting moment, they looked at each other, united by shared animosity, anger and general frustration at the world.
Life’s really quite unfair isn’t it?
Tim slammed the door closed. He jammed the sturdy umbrella up against the same trash can a ratty teenager threw a wrapper in an eon before and pinned the door closed. His burly boss banged on the door and yelled in frustration, but the umbrella stood, shaking like a tree in a tempest.
Satisfied, Tim daintily wiped his bloody nose on his apron and turned away from the truck. He reached into the trash can and fished out the popsicle wrapper. Opening the wrapper, he peeled the half-chewed gum out with his jagged, broken fingernails, biting his cut lip in concentration.
His bosses’ cries of frustration grew fainter and fainter, drowned out by the cheery sound of the ice cream truck jingle that played on. The umbrella ceased to shake.
‘Come on man, will you let me out of here?’
Tim turned back to the truck and walked over to the pile of ice pops. He looked through the small teller window. His bosses’ piggy eyes glowered back.
‘Let me out. ‘
Tim considered him, tucked his wrapper in his pocket and turned to go.
‘LET ME OUT OR I’LL FIRE YOU!’
The slight man whipped around and picked up an armful of ice creams. He launched them at the teller window, pelting the beefy man with a rainbow of sweet, glorious goodness. Half melted, they oozed and dripped down the side of the hot truck, splattering everywhere.
‘I QUIT!’
Tim ripped off his apron and threw it on the ground. He picked up another handful of ice creams and turned to the crowd gathered in the parking lot.
‘FREE ICE CREAM FOR EVERYONE!’
He turned and pelted the little kids, nosy moms and shell-shocked dads with shooting stars and chocolate comets. They ran, scurrying back to their Subarus and beach villas. Tim laughed manically.
Now alone – Tim straightened his shirt, pulled the wrapper out from his pocket to check the recipe was still there, and walked away. He’d be making chicken noodle soup tonight. He checked his watch, noted he was right on time, and smiled. Maybe, he’d even serve dessert.