Growing up overseas, the ice cream truck was this magical thing that I read about in books and heard about on tapes (yes, tapes), but never got to experience for myself. Somehow, even during four years in college, these magical vehicles that dispense goodness to your front door never appeared. I began to think it was one of those stories from my parents’ childhood that hadn’t lasted. So imagine the scene when as a fresh graduate on assignment in Taiwan, I was languishing on my first evening in my new home in what felt like 115-degree August heat and suddenly perceived some music in the distance, Beethoven’s “Für Elise” to be exact. I gave it a minute or two to see if the sound was drawing nearer. My housemate, Jenn, down the hall suddenly confirmed my suspicions: “Guys, I think there’s an ice cream truck coming!”
I’ve never moved so fast in such heat. The two of us grabbed our wallets, which had been filled with colorful Taiwanese Dollars mere hours earlier, and dashed down the five flights of stairs. The tinny music was indeed getting closer, and neighbors started to join us on the sidewalk. "If they have Oreo, I'm getting that," I told Jenn. I was too excited to notice that instead of wallets, everyone else was clutching little plastic bags. The truck rounded the corner, and I probably clapped my hands giddily. That is until I noticed the ominous smell radiating toward me as the truck rolled relentlessly toward us, not stopping long enough for people to make any orders. Neighbors closest to the truck stepped off the curb and began tossing their little plastic bags into the back, retreating as quickly as they could. That is when our third housemate came home and in passing by us remarked, “Why are you two waiting for the garbage truck? We haven’t lived here long enough to make garbage yet.” What a let down!
More proof in my mind that ice cream trucks were an elusive thing of the past. Until last week.
Amanda and I went out around the neighborhood for a walk, when a familiar tinny sound reached my ears, and I shuddered slightly. (Oh right, did I mention that garbage truck came every single night of my 365-day sojourn in Taiwan and played nothing but "Für Elise"? It got old by Day 3.) She looked at me with smiling eyes, “Is that an ice cream truck?” “No, I’ve been fooled by that before,” I told her. Unperturbed, she dragged me home quickly and got her kids to come running outside with us. And to my shock: a little white van, non-smelly and covered in ice cream stickers, rounded the corner. They do exist!!!!
I thought fondly of Taiwan and ate my Oreo bar.
1 comment:
Love it!!!
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