As I am typing, I have ice cream in my hand from an old, beat-up white van with colorful- and slightly faded- images of cartoon characters and the more “grown-up” flavors of Rich’s Crunch Cakes and Drumsticks. I don’t know why I chose to run outside with my wallet and wait with the parents and kids across the street from my grandmother’s house, but I did. I bought the Chocolate Crunch Cake that reminds me of Kit Kats and one of the pink cotton candy tubs. I don’t know why the little boy taking my order chose pink, but I’d like to think he saw the Hello Kitty acne covers on my face and thought, “Why not?” I remember getting ice cream as a kid from those vans, and even as a child, I was still wary of the possibility of it being a human trafficking trick. But I’m glad I got to do this little thing. It reminded me of being a carefree kid again with my parent’s dollar bills, only this time it was my own and the price jumped to $5.50. I suppose inflation got to that profession too.
