Lactose Intolerance

In the spring and summertime, Mister Softee will often meander down Any Street USA, beckoning neighborhood children to indulge upon a tasty frozen treat and experience what is known as the all encompassing, Mister Softee experience. Religiously, children will chase Mister Softee down (INSERT STREET NAME HERE) with either a barefoot parent in tow—or more likely, a flock of barefoot kids will ebb and flow, to and fro about the street as they frantically backtrack for rogue quarters and dimes that disobediently drop from their tiny little hands and begin to roll curbside. Seriously, forget about checking the sofa cushions for change—in the spring and summertime, check the curb. I’m just sayin’.

For the most part my encounters with Mr. Softee have been amicable in that I can tolerate his jinglistic presence by simply channeling my childhood nostalgia, as I clearly remember the excitement of Mister Softee. As a squirt, I faithfully chose the ice cream sandwich even though I wasn’t a huge fan of ice cream per se; or should I say, my digestive system wasn’t the fan. No matter, as it was only two minutes until the blistering sun melted my treat into a structurally unsound heap of cookies and cream anyway—it was all about the experience for me; the chase.

You see, that’s what a phenomenon Mister Softee is, even the lactose intolerant can enjoy the experience. As an adult I can certainly appreciate the sight of children chirping for sugar like hungry little finches. One might recall that as Mister Softee trolls the neighborhood for children—homeostatic and neuroglycopenic alike—his truck plays the contagious jingle known as “Mister Softee.” Or, as the children like to call it—ICCCCEEEE CCRRREEEEAAMM!!

Here is a little something you may or may not know about the “Mister Softee” jingle:

The jingle transmitted via the Mister Softee trucks was created in 1960 by an advertising agency. No way! Way.

The lyrics include the following: (please, hum along)

The CREAM-i-est DREAM-i-est SOFT ice CREAM
you GET from MIS-ter SOF-tee.

FOR a re-FRESH-ing de-LIGHT su-PREME
LOOK for MIS-ter SOF-tee....

This time of year, the Mister Softee jingle evokes a northeastern, weather repressed association to spring and then to summer; to fresh cut grass, vacation, and chlorine-tinged hair; to happiness and contentment. I don’t have a problem with that. I mean, for the most part Mister Softee is speedy about his business, thus making this trademark jingle tolerable. After all, he only swings by our neighborhood 1-2 times per week, which is far more bearable than the ritualistic pace of the pimped out, subwoofing El Caminos that rattle and bombard my friend Chet’s neighborhood on INSERT Avenue with their driving DOOOMMM THHHUUMMP DOOOOOMM riffs 24/7. In fact, up until the summer of 2007 Mister Softee rarely came by at all, as my neighborhood doesn’t have many children who typically respond to his presence; in fact, they are somewhat indifferent. It’s nothing personal.

Yet this year, spring arrived and it suddenly became more than clear that Mister Softee had changed. I say this because he now circles our neighborhood 4-5 times per day and I would testify under oath that his virulent jingle been upgraded in the amplification department; MTV has clearly pimped Mr. Softee’s ride. But why this sudden change in behavior, Mr. Softee?

I believe that Mister Softee is misinterpreting the indifference in my neighborhood as rejection, taking it personally and therefore, he has reassessed his routine, for we have become a challenge, we have crossed him and we will pay. In retaliation he has deliberately cranked the jinglistic audio needle deep into the red, while he has quadrupled his visits to our disrespectful, indifferent neighborhood. However, Mister Softee ought to consider that our indifference is not even about him. Perhaps he would realize the true source of our indifference if he merely paid attention to the smattering of signs, which adorn and bookend our street.


In fact, I think he may be under the delusional impression that we—children and adults—sit in our homes poker-faced and defiant; mocking his cries for attention, when in fact a majority of the children are probably busy reading a closed captioned episode of “Sponge Bob Square Pants.” What a pickle: Mr. Softee is oblivious to their disability and the children are oblivious to his presence.

Sometimes I will scream from inside the house, THEY CAN’T HEAR YOU MISTER SOFTEE!, yet he still circles the block like a hawk hunting for prey. He is relentless; he is committed; he is Glenn Close from “Fatal Attraction” and trust me, he “will not be ignored,” as he is determined to provoke us by blasting his musical gibberish—ironically, at deafening decibels—while in response he will receive only the aggravated reverberation of windows slamming shut. Did I mention how freakin' hard it is to get that motherhumping jingle out of your head? I’m just sayin’, it’s a subliminal attack on your short-term memory; you can’t help but rehearse it and unknowingly consolidate it into your long-term memory. What a kick in the pants.

Look, I’m a napper; I enjoy and rely upon my catnaps for leisure, as well as medicinal purposes and I have to say that it’s as if the lyrics to his jingle have undergone a most misanthropic metamorphosis—‘The CREAM-i-est DREAM-i-est SOFT ice CREAM- You-can FOR-get AB-out NAPP-ing, I-am MIS-ter-SOF-tee!’ Truly, I have tried to be tolerant of his harassment and misdirected frustration, but his daily presence has finally breached the confines of my patience.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m at war with Mister Softee. Sadly, his erratic behavior has created a self-fulfilling prophecy; that is, his perceived notion of our rejection has indeed created a rejection within us via his obsessive, if-I-can’t-have-you-no one-will mission and it’s only a matter of time before I go running outside wild-eyed and disheveled with a fist full of marbles in one hand and a carton of Ben and Jerry’s in the other screaming, “WE DON’T WANT YOUR ICE CREAM MISTER SOFTEE!! BUGGER OFF, YA MUG!” Yes, I am of British descent.

Oh, come on now, jenji…Marbles? Must you be so aggressive?

What!? He started it with his fanatical use of that bedazzled, jingle-jangling, diesel chugging, subwoofing, smoke spewing, whippy-dipped sugar mobile as an abusive device designed to disrupt my catnaps and punish our neighborhood.

If Al Gore wants someone to blame for frivolous fuel consumption, Mister Softee’s the man. I’m just sayin’.

jenji