Ice Cream Man

The Glass Man (0)

A regular day in the life of an ice cream man isn't as easy as it sounds. Before you go around blasting music, you need to check your tools. To make sure everything is in working order. Imagine how disastrous it would be if your spouts didn't want to churn out any more ice cream! All you get is some sputters of curdled milk. That won't do. That won't do at all. That's why you do it the way Daddy Afton taught you, and hit it hard. Repeatedly. Anything will do. Your foot, a wrench, whatever it is on your person. Keep hitting it. Until it's working again. And the darndest thing happens. The spouts go back to work, with nary a complaint! Every single time. It's the silliest thing, but it works.

When those are in working order, you check the soda station. Is the root beer circulating correctly? How about the CPU, are the temps fine? These things matter, folks. Especially when you run the risk of overheating. A busted circuit can be a major problem in the middle of a hot summer day. A little thermal paste and some ice packs do the trick, and let you skimp on air conditioning.

Then you come to the scooper. An important part of every thinking man's collection, and William Howard Afton is quite the thinker. You don't want something too big, nor something that leaves the customer unsatisfied. That's why you grab the medium one on your shelf. It will do just fine. This one's name is Jeremy, it says so on the tag.  This will do just fine.

The final touch, is to lug in the ice cream barrels. They store about twenty to twenty five pints worth of ice cream in there. These are quite heavy, so you need to roll it up the ramp on it's side, like Donkey Kong. And befitting the eponymous great ape, you've selected Banana Lover for the stock  selection today. Along with Choco-Pecan, Grape Ape, and of course, Mint Chocolate. These flavors will accompany your cooler of stored homemade cream goodies, like ice cream sandwiches, Popsicles, and more. There is something for everybody here.

Satisfied, you climb into the driver's seat and put the pedal to the metal, driving to another neighborhood some miles from your home. Slowing down, you start the music. The Circus Baby jingle blares from your vehicle, and as you see a child run out of his house waving his hands furiously,  you stop the truck. And wait.


Pecan (2)
The kid was middle school age. He wore a moth-eaten t-shirt and ragged, patched jeans. The youth was somewhere between ten and twelve years of age.  His mother stood in the doorway, watching. William Afton got out of his seat, and opened the window.

The kid followed his movements, and stood below the window.

“What do you want, son?” William asked.  “This is what we’ve got available today,” he said as he pointed down towards the menu, below the open window.

The boy stood silent for a few moments, observing the menu intently. “Two scoops of the soft-serve Choco-Pecan, please. On a waffle cone, and with sprinkles”

“Coming right up,” William said. He closed the window, and got to work. Grabbing a waffle cone off the rack, William headed towards the back of the vehicle, closing the door behind him. His workshop, intended only for his eyes and his alone.

“Soft-serve Choco-Pecan”, he announced to the room. “Sprinkles.”

“Two scoops,” he added.

Walking to a table on his left, William bent down and open a blue and violet cooler. His hands lifted out the Chocomaker, which had a handle soldered onto its head. He placed the Chocomaker on the table, eying the lever on its right side. William grabbed the lever, and pulled it back and forth, as if he was churning butter. The man held the waffle-cone beneath the secretion zone as a brown, sweet substance oozed from between the machine’s plastic lips. Once the Choco had reached a satisfactory level, William stopped, and using his free hand, he placed the Chocomaker back into the cooler.

“Goodbye”, William says as he closed the cooler, and slid it against the wall . With a quarter of his work finished, the man paced over to the Red Queen Machine, stationed across from the Chocomaker’s usual spot.

Thankfully, William had finished maintenance only that morning, and left it on the table. The Red Queen was very heavy, and cumbersome to take in and out. The red machine glistened in the dim industrial lighting of the workshop. Two bulbous nozzles protruded from the device. William grasped one firmly, and angled it down towards the cone’s brown chasm. He squeezed it.

For a few seconds, nothing. The machine made a rattling noise and shuddered as bits of pecan came out of the faucet, and landed in the semi-solid paste for five seconds. Then it stopped.

“You screwed it up,” William said in a flat, emotionless voice. He raised his hand as if to smack the machine, and then lowered it.
He moved the waffle cone to the next nozzle, and squeezed the soft plastic. Whiteness gushed from the tip, William moving the cone in a circular motion to keep the ice cream from spilling over. The flow ceased.
“Better,” he said. “But still in the wrong order. She was better,” William said as he jerked a thumb towards the other side of the room.  “I don’t have to remind you about the sprinkles, do I?”
With another firm squeeze, colorful sprinkles rained out of the nozzle like a cloud of confetti.

William walked to the door, and before opening it, looked at the Red Queen one last time.
“The nuts come after the cream. Not before. We’ll talk later.”

“Here you go, kid,” William said as he handed the ice cream to the boy. “That’ll run you $4.50.”

Lifting a cherry out of the cherry bucket below the cash register, William said  “And this is on the house,” as he placed it onto the top of the ice cream.

“Thanks!” the kid exclaimed as he gave the money to William. The man slid the window, and got back into the driver’s seat as he started the music again.

On the road once more.