and it started with the outfit: they put Jacob in that thing to make him feel like he was doing more than selling ice cream. Pressed, crisp whites, for top and bottom and a black 1) sash, 2) belt, and 3) bow tie, and presto: the militant milkman vibe was complete. It might have been this aesthetic which raised the sense of entitlement amongst his customers, who felt more deserving of Jacob’s time before, during, and after a sale as though he were more of a civil servant than an independent businessman. God forbid, he thought, gripping the wheel and speeding away from a sale of two ice cream bars that inexplicably took 7 minutes, he didn’t say “Ice Cream Good Humor” or some punk kid would complain about “customer service.” He turned the truck—the truck didn’t help, either, bucking the accepted look of actual fucking ice cream trucks to appear more like a plumber’s work truck that happened to serve ice cream from its camper—onto East Colfax without stopping and picked up some more speed.
February. Why…for the love of FUCK, thought Jacob, did this company ask him to sling ice cream sandwich bars in Denver during one of their colder months? Why did he agree to do it? And who buys it?!? The ringing in his ears starts to sound like a melody. He let his right foot get heavier and heavier, the people and the buildings on the sidewalk losing definition faster and faster, but the ringing in his ears was strangely tinny, and dragging, and it was in that moment he realized he hadn’t turned off his jingle. And it was in that moment he decided he never would again. He decided, in fact, that he would just drive Tuesday’s route over and over, through Capitol Hill and Congress Park, throwing ice creams bars out of the window at people walking their dogs and letting the jingle run on repeat until he ran out of gas. Then, he would get out of the truck wherever it stopped and leave it there.
That was in 1981. Jacob was only 20 at the time. The truck never runs out of gas and the jingle just keeps playing even though the speaker has long since died, and the people on the route got so used to seeing him that now, he could never drive away, so he just kept driving, faster and faster, 100 MPH through the years, waiting for something to stop him.
©2020 by Saladin Thomas. All rights reserved.