An open letter to Mister Softee

Dear Mister Softee,

I know you're trying to make it in this world just like anybody else, and that you like to serve students and children everywhere with overpriced ice cream that we can get without even having to go anywhere. And if you make a few bucks on the side while providing this invaluable service to the community, all the better for you.

That said, Mister Softee, I hate you.

I hate the fact that I can hear you coming from half a mile away, due to your extremely loud song. I guess this is helpful so that people can hear the siren song of the ice cream truck and run and get their wallets and run outside. But do you have any idea how annoying it is when you're just sitting in your living watching TV or trying to read? Of course you do, you have to hear it all day every day. But you're not getting any sympathy from me. Every time I hear that song, it feels like being harpooned in the stomach and stabbed in the head, all at the same time. And you know you're going to hear it for at least the next ten minutes, as you slowly make your way around each and every block in the neighborhood, waiting for people to run outside demanding ice cream. And the noise is made worse by the fact that you only come around during weather that calls for open windows. It's noise pollution, and I don't want it where I live!

Remember how you used to park outside my dorm for an hour at a time, playing that damn song the entire time? I hate you for that.

I hate the song itself too. The piercing, shrill high notes sounding a jangly sing-song melody for about 10 seconds, before ending awkwardly in the middle of a phrase. I'm a songwriter, don't you know how much that aggravates me?! It needs a resolution! You can't interrupt it like that, pause for two seconds, and then start over! Write an ending! You go along like you're Irving Berlin for 10 seconds, and then suddenly you're Arnold freakin' Schoenberg? Who do you think you are?

Last night I was walking around, and I swear you were just following me. There you were at 38th and Lancaster, serving some neighborhood children. As I walked down Lancaster Ave., I noticed your song wasn't getting any quieter as I moved away. At 34th and Lancaster, I finally turned around to look again, and there you were, across from the 7-11! I know your game, Softee (if that is your real name), and you can't strongarm me! I will not buy Klondike bars out of intimidation!

I hated that too.

In conclusion, Mr. Softee, please go away. There are supermarkets and corner delis that all sell ice cream. You're unnecessary. You can still hang out in Ocean City and Brigantine and other beach towns if you want, but here in Philadelphia, we don't welcome your kind!

Sincerely,

Tom