The Ice Cream Man
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The Ice Cream Man is a one act play, with one actor, who soliloquizes from his ice cream truck as he works. The set is simple, a colorful ice cream truck, with a few different scenes- residential and beach. |
Ice Cream Man: It's Monday morning. I've got my sunglasses on. It's hot, it's humid, it's fucking July. You can't get any relief, only at night in the bar. Today the truck is going to be hot. I don't know why I went to college for a degree, when I'm stuck in a fucking ice cream sales. Sixty grand I owe the U.S. fucking A. I get paid in buckets of change. I don't know how much longer this job's going to last but it pays the rent and I get to look at half naked chicks all day. How hard is that?
Mid morning- foggy, cruising by beaches and condo's, driving 25 mph, can't see nothing, cant sell shit to no one. The ashtray lady wasn't here again because she's a major burn out with like dead stickers that cover her entire car and old saggy tattoos. All I want is to buy this stand up ashtray she's got in her yard. Her husband, who she actually isn't married to, who the lady next door told me is this major big bearded guy, and drives a truck; so I see him, and he's like, We'llhavva the ashtray for ya, no problem, ahhh, is she didn't sell it for something, you'll have to come back tomorrow." So dumb he wouldn't listen to me telling him the thing was in the yard and I had cash.
There's this kid with a baseball hat on, comes up to the truck, whips down a twenty, three extra large lemonades, one chip burger, asks how much gum he can get. I give him four bucks worth of gum, forty pieces and a bucket to carry the shit home with. No tip. Kids suck.
There's that little girl with the really firm tits, she comes out everyday and flirts with me. There's her fat mom though, so I gotta go.
Ice Cream Man lights a cigarette and fiddles around with the radio. He pauses a few moments before beginning again.
I kinda feel obligated, you know, to pick up hitchhikers, but ah, only if they're cool looking. No geeks, or really big muscle dudes. And they gotta be look like older than fifteen and a half. And, ahh, older than that. Other than tat I won't pick up nobody.
There are these two mom's on my route. One wears a white bikini and she's got a tattoo of a little broken heart just outside of the suit line. She's got three kids, she's o.k. she doesn't have like hideous varicose veins, or stretch marks, or nothing, but her face shows the fact that she's probably pushing thirty-eight. The other one's probable about thirty-two, she's got three kids too but no husband because she divorced him 'cause he was such an asshole he used to slap he around just a bit, she comes out every day in an orange bikini with much bigger boobs, but much better face than the other one because she hasn't aged so much and I flirt with her everyday and she flirts back. The love life of the ice cream man.
A woman priest driving a minivan just drove past wearing the whole shot, even a black fucking shirt and the real deal looking white collar with the gooky glasses, driving a red like astro minivan major crazy. She even had a bumper sticker that said "God loves us all."
Ice Cream Man pauses a while, smokes another cigarette, then begins again.
I just saw the little Fitzpatrick girl, she's out tonight in her little nighty t-shirt kinda thing, ahh, a little blonde- girl with blue eyes who buys like four bucks worth of stuff every night, she's the most faithful customer I have and she's not even fat. The fat girl, man, she doses it all in one night; she'll go like twelve bucks in one night. The Fitzpatrick girl does like four and makes it last out so she can scam another four, does it all the time, she'll get like two italian ices, chocolate, the Mickey Mouse, maybe a Ninja Turtle, just pigs out on the stuff, I'm sure it's really funny. She's known of course as the little Fitzpatrick girl, she doesn't actually have a real first name.
I seen one of those Monte Carlos, it's got a bumper sticker that says "AA Works!" People are always asking me, "What can I get for six dollars?"
Yeah, I just went to Richard's house. Richard is my Bosses partner and they call him Richard because to call him Dick would be too close to reality, so you have to call him Richard, but like I know he comes out every night with like a twenty in his hand and just buys all kinds of shit to make sure that I haven't like run out of nothing so he can tell my boss, "I wanted six nutty buddies and he only had four left what the fuck am I supposed to do? You know, cut this shit out, give the kid fuckingmoreicecream on his truck and shit like that." And he comes out here, lays a twenty on me, to buy all kinds of shit, he's like, "How much is that?" like I'm adding up twenty bucks worth of friggin' .65 plus .65 plus .70 plus .45 plus .35 plus two nutty biddies, a hundred eighty. Fuck that shit, I just quote him "Yeah that's like $18.70" yeah I count like everything as almost a buck and you got 22 pieces. I charged him fucking 18.70 and he got fucking ripped is what happened, but he just lays the twenty on me all the time and says "Ahh, keep the change, kid, and-ah don't get in any trouble-ha?"
People like him pay my rent. This job is based on how much I sell, but my boss makes you fill the truck up every night, so you spent all your dough on restocking. On a good day I walk with $45, plus another 50 from shortchanging and overcharging. It's the only way to survive. Volume doesn't mean anything. I have to rip off people to survive. I'm gonna volunteer at a church soon, so God doesn't get pissed and arrange for me to keep this shit hole job.
Somebody just changed the sign that says "Essex Village", so that It says Sex Village now, I think that'll make a nice picture with a couple of babes in bikinis, gotta check into it. Maybe the yummy mommies will come down for it.
Dude, I'm in a major like poor, crappy kinda development, apartment complex, lots of kids and stuff like that. Some guy comes out, major cheesy mustache, he's losing his hair, kinda short, thinks he's a tough guy, he's wearing black sweatpants and a cut-off, like 1987 SuperBowl t-shirt, all faded too tight over his big belly, he starts snapping his fingers at me telling me to, "Cut the bell, cut the bell. Yo! Cut the bell and I'll buy some shit, ha?" Then he calls over all the little kids he can find. "Yo, yo, come here, come here, Order what you want, just order whatever the fuck you think you want, anything kid." He's buying all kinds of stuff, he spent like ten bucks, so I mean I guess he's...He's a total asshole but I pinched him for ten, and overcharged him like sixty cents. He can fuck off if he can't add for himself. Snapping his fingers, "Yo, he gets what he wants, just give me the change from that, ha/" Major fucking idiot. This guy thought he was God's gift to kids right? The hotshot, gold necklaces and stuff, pulls a wrinkled twenty out of his pocket, two five's, and three singles, like Mr. Fuckin'' Hotshots going out tonight. Buddy, watch out!!
Ice Cream Man pauses to light up a cigarette then continues.
My diet seems to consist mostly of Burger King Chicken take out sandwiches or the chicken salad with chicken pieces in it, and a big Coke of course...three or four cigarettes, the small fries, which you can never eat more than like seven or eight of before realizing how gross they are. (Belch) Chicks at Burger King know me and I trade ice cream with them alot of times to get food and the little game pieces for the nifty game for more free food. The give me a handful of game pieces and like all I've got to do is paste them to the little card.
I wish I didn't have to eat this shit, but it's all I can afford. I need to roll about seventy five bucks worth of pennies, so I guess I'll go back and restock this truck for tomorrow. That bastard is probably gonna get most of my money again, but at least I've got wheels for the summer.
