Sunday Musings: The Ice Cream Man

Generally, when a middle-aged, shirtless, shaggy haired, white (or occasionally Hispanic) male drives by an okay-looking girl between the ages of 17 and 30, jogging steadily down the sidewalk, his natural inclination is to slow down.... just.enough....so.that.he.can.take.it.all.in...without....being....creepy.......slower....slower...

Sometimes, these creepers brake just slightly, as to not appear perverted. Other times, they crawl by at a pace so sluggish that the running girl must also slow down just to get them to pass by. And still other times, after they've passed the poor girl, their slowing will bring them to a complete stop at an intersection . . . even though the light is green and even though the runner is a hundred feet behind them . . . it's like you can see them thinking . . .

"If I wait here long enough, she'll eventually catch up. Then, I can harass her with my devilish charm. Or just follow her until she gives me her phone number and begs me to call. OR! I could take a right here, go around the block, and come up behind her AGAIN!" And so, the right turn is made. Yes, I have actually experienced someone drive around the block only to pass me even more slowly than they did the first time.

Today, as I ran in the sun-scorched neighborhood of Southwood Park, I kind-of sort-of had one of these experiences, only it involved an Ice Cream Man. Let's just say I finally realized why some men are willing to give their summers to driving crappy vans and selling overpriced ice cream to middle and lower class citizens:

It gives them an excuse to drive slowly.

As I ran and as the Ice Cream Man passed me at a rate that would make a grandma in a Buick look good, there was nothing I could do. He was, after all, just doing his job. It's not like he knew our paths would cross. And it's not like he suddenly put the brakes on when I appeared up the road. No, he was doing what he was paid to do....drive as slowly as a snail scoots. It just so happened that for that brief minute on Beaver Avenue, the scenery changed and he had a little more to think about than whether the children would be enticed by his totally awesome and loud song. It was probably no different than watching old couples taking a stroll, squirrels dashing up trees, dads cleaning out garages...

Then, once he passed me, I heard him speed up.

What a sick, creep.