Crazy Uber stories: The ice cream man
I heard this story from Wayne, my Uber rider who was heading home from work. He had me laughing about the time his Uber car was an ice-cream truck:
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that the excitement of waiting for an Uber is unmatched. There I was, standing on my front porch, eagerly refreshing the app with all the energy of a caffeinated squirrel. My suitcase was packed and ready for my long-awaited vacation to Hawaii, a trip I had been planning for months. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead as the sun blazed overhead, a cruel reminder of just how badly I needed that tropical getaway.
“Come on, come on,” I muttered to myself, tapping my foot impatiently. “Where are you?”
Just as I was about to give up hope, the familiar “ding” of the Uber app rang through. The little car icon on my screen showed that my ride had arrived. But as I raised my gaze from my phone, the sight before me was not what I had expected. Instead of a sleek black sedan or a sensible eco-friendly Prius, parked at the curb was an ice cream truck, its jingle playing merrily and sending shivers down my spine.
“Okay, okay,” I whispered, trying to keep my cool. “This isn’t a problem. Maybe my driver just had a change of heart and decided to sell ice cream as a side gig.” But as the ice cream truck idled in front of me, something felt off. The melody looped over and over again, taunting me like the soundtrack to an offbeat comedy. This wasn’t exactly the start I had envisioned for my grand Hawaiian adventure.
“Excuse me,” I called out tentatively, approaching the truck. The window slid open, revealing a middle-aged man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, and sunglasses. “Uh, this is gonna sound really weird, but are you my Uber?”
“Name’s Jerry,” he replied, grinning from ear to ear. “You must be the lucky passenger I’m taking to the airport, right?”
“Um, yeah,” I stuttered, taken aback by the sheer absurdity of the situation. “But why are you driving an ice cream truck?”
“Ah, well, you see,” Jerry said, scratching his head sheepishly, “my car broke down last week, and my buddy offered to lend me this beauty. Figured it’d be a nice change of pace for my passengers. Everyone loves ice cream, right?”
“Right,” I agreed hesitantly, wondering if I should just cancel the trip and call another Uber. But with every passing second, my dream of sipping piña coladas on a sandy beach seemed to be slipping further away. So, against my better judgment, I hoisted my suitcase into the truck and climbed in, hoping that this would be the most bizarre part of my journey. Little did I know that my adventure had only just begun.
“Alright then, let’s do this,” I muttered to myself, taking a deep breath and steeling my resolve. With a final glance at my house, I clambered up into the passenger seat of the ice cream truck.
“Welcome aboard!” Jerry exclaimed, his grin ever-present. “You comfy?”
“Uh, sure,” I replied, adjusting myself in the worn-out seat. Its springs creaked beneath me, and my eyes darted around the colorful interior – a vivid mix of candy wrappers, bobblehead dolls, and sticky surfaces that seemed to be perpetually coated with a thin layer of melted ice cream.
“Ready for takeoff?” Jerry asked, throwing me a wink as he turned the ignition key.
“Takeoff” might have been a bit of an exaggeration, but the truck rumbled to life with a sound that was somewhere between a roar and a hiccup. I gripped the armrest tightly, feeling the vibrations travel up my spine. *Just focus on Hawaii,* I told myself. *Think about the waves, the sun, the palm trees…*
“Hey, you want some ice cream while we’re on our way?” Jerry offered, lifting a tub of Neapolitan from a cooler next to the dashboard. “Courtesy of your friendly neighborhood Uber driver.”
“Um, no thanks,” I responded, forcing a smile. My stomach churned at the thought of consuming anything from this dubious vehicle.
“Suit yourself,” Jerry said, shrugging and grabbing a spoonful for himself. “Mmm, delicious! Nothing like ice cream to make a journey more enjoyable.”
As Jerry steered the truck onto the main road, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease creeping over me. The truck’s eclectic decorations swayed and jingled with every bump, and the constant hum of the engine reminded me that I was, indeed, riding shotgun in an ice cream truck on my way to the airport.
“Hey, you know what’s cool about driving an ice cream truck?” Jerry asked, interrupting my thoughts. “You get to play whatever music you want!”
With a flourish, he reached down and cranked up the volume on the stereo. The cheerful jingle of the “Pop Goes the Weasel” ice cream truck tune blasted through the speakers, reverberating off the metal walls and making me wince.
“Uh, can we maybe turn that down a little?” I asked, trying not to sound too desperate.
“Sure thing!” Jerry obliged, lowering the volume to a more tolerable level. He then glanced over at me, still grinning. “So, where are you headed, anyway? Vacation?”
“Yep,” I replied, nodding. “Hawaii.”
“Ah, Hawaii! Beautiful place,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “You’re gonna have a fantastic time, I just know it!”
“Thanks,” I murmured, trying to share his enthusiasm. If only I could get there without losing my sanity first.
As we rolled down the highway, I couldn’t help but notice that people would slow down just to gawk at the ice cream truck. Jerry waved cheerily at the kids in passing cars, occasionally tossing out a free popsicle or two. He seemed to be having the time of his life, while I sank lower and lower into my seat.
“Isn’t this just the best?” he exclaimed, laughing as a car full of teenagers honked their horns and gave us thumbs up. “You can’t beat this kind of attention!”
“Sure,” I mumbled, growing increasingly conscious of how bizarre our situation was. “Really makes you feel… special.”
“Exactly!” Jerry agreed, oblivious to my sarcasm. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten breakfast in my haste to catch my flight. Glancing around the truck, my eyes fell on the rows of neatly stacked ice cream treats.
“Hey, Jerry,” I asked hesitantly, “do you mind if I have some ice cream?”
“Of course not, help yourself!” he replied enthusiastically. “It’s all part of the experience!”
I grabbed a Choco Taco and began absentmindedly nibbling on it as my thoughts spun in circles. How did I end up in an ice cream truck speeding toward the airport? Would I even make it in time for my flight? And what kind of Uber driver drove an ice cream truck anyway?
“Jerry,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I don’t mean to be rude, but are you sure you know where you’re going? The airport is kind of important, and I’d really like to get there in one piece.”
“Relax! I drive this route all the time!” Jerry responded, turning the wheel with one hand while using the other to juggle a scoop of ice cream in a cone. “Trust me, we’ll get you there in no time!”
“Okay,” I sighed, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. Maybe he was right; perhaps I was overreacting. After all, he seemed like a nice enough guy, and the ice cream wasn’t half bad.
“Hey, you should try this mint chocolate chip!” Jerry suggested, offering me a scoop. “Nothing like sugar to take the edge off!”
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the ice cream and trying to convince myself that everything would be fine. But as the minutes ticked by, and the airport remained nowhere in sight, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had made a colossal mistake by getting into that ice cream truck.
The truck rolled to a stop at a red light, and I absentmindedly licked my third scoop of ice cream. That’s when the rumble of tricycle wheels caught my attention. I looked out the window and saw them: a throng of gray-haired grannies pedaling furiously toward us on their adult-sized tricycles.
“Jerry, what in the world is going on?” I asked, nearly choking on a chunk of mint chocolate chip.
“Uh-oh,” Jerry muttered, his eyes widening in the rearview mirror. “It’s the Grandma Gang.”
“Excuse me? The Grandma Gang?”
“Yep,” he confirmed as they encircled the truck like vultures closing in on a carcass. “They’ve been terrorizing local ice cream trucks for months now. They demand free ice cream or else they’ll… well, you don’t want to know what they’ll do.”
“Are you serious?” I gawked at the fierce determination etched on each wrinkled face. It was equal parts amusing and terrifying.
“Dead serious.”
“Listen, ladies,” I called out, rolling down the window. “We’d love to give you some ice cream, but I’m kind of in a hurry here. I have a flight to catch, and—”
“Give us all your ice cream!” one granny barked, brandishing her knitting needles like a weapon.
“Please, can’t we work something out?” I pleaded, desperation creeping into my voice.
“Fine,” another granny sighed, eyeing the remaining tubs of ice cream longingly. “But you better make it quick.”
“Deal,” I agreed, leaping into action. With surprising efficiency, I scooped out servings of Rocky Road, Cookies ‘n Cream, and Butter Pecan, passing them through the window to the impatient grannies. As the last of the ice cream was doled out, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of loss; that sugar rush had been the only thing keeping my panic at bay.
“Alright, we’re done here,” I announced, wiping my hands on my pants. “Can we please go now?”
“Fine, fine,” the ringleader granny grumbled, mounting her tricycle with a huff. “But if you ever come ’round these parts again, you better have more ice cream for us!”
“Of course,” I lied through gritted teeth as the grannies dispersed, leaving us to continue our harrowing journey to the airport.
“Turn left here!” I shouted, gripping the edge of my seat as the ice cream truck careened around a corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with a group of rollerbladers.
“Wrong left! Wrong left!” I screamed, realizing too late that we’d just driven straight into the heart of a boisterous Gay Pride parade.
“Whoops,” the driver muttered, shrugging nonchalantly. “My bad.”
“Your bad?!” I exclaimed, feeling my blood pressure skyrocket. “How are we supposed to get through this?!”
“Relax,” he said, inching forward through the sea of rainbow flags and glitter-covered bodies. “We’ll just go with the flow.”
“Go with the flow?” I echoed incredulously, watching as a troupe of scantily-clad dancers twirled past the truck, their brightly colored feather boas fluttering in the breeze. “I’m going to miss my flight because of a wrong turn into Mardi Gras on steroids!”
“Hey, at least there’s no more grannies,” the driver quipped, earning a glare from me.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” I retorted, biting my lip as we inched along, surrounded by gyrating hips and thumping bass from nearby speakers. “Maybe if we just… honk the horn? Politely?”
“Sure thing, boss,” the driver replied, giving the horn a tentative tap. The resulting jingle sent a wave of excitement through the crowd, who cheered and applauded, mistaking our plight for participation.
“Great, now they think we’re part of the parade,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “This can’t possibly get any worse.”
“Never say never,” the driver replied with a smirk, expertly dodging an enthusiastic drag queen who leaped onto the hood of the truck, blowing kisses to the throng of onlookers. “Besides, look on the bright side: it’s a great day for ice cream!”
“Ha,” I muttered, peering out the window at the vibrant scene unfolding around us. “If only we still had some.”
“True,” the driver conceded, navigating through the colorful chaos. “But hey, at least you’ve got one heck of a story to tell when you finally get to your destination.”
“Assuming I ever get there,” I sighed, feeling a strange mix of amusement and dread as we continued our bizarre odyssey towards the airport. “At this rate, I should probably just start walking.”
The ice cream truck sputtered and coughed, before giving out a final wheeze and coming to an abrupt halt. We were on the side of the road, finally free from the cacophony of the parade but now stranded in the middle of nowhere.
“Great,” I muttered, staring at the lifeless engine. “What now?”
“Um, well…” The driver scratched his head, as if hoping he’d magically produce a solution. “I’m not much of a mechanic, boss.”
“Fantastic.” I rolled my eyes, then took a deep breath. Time was running out, and I needed to get to the airport. “Alright, Scoop” – I couldn’t believe I was addressing someone by that name – “I’ll take a look at it.”
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “You know engines?”
“Hardly,” I admitted, popping open the hood. “But I’ve watched enough YouTube tutorials to give it a shot.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Scoop shrugged, stepping back as I surveyed the mess of wires and tubes beneath the hood.
“Let’s see…” I mumbled, recalling snippets of advice from various videos. “Check for loose connections, make sure there’s gas, listen for any weird noises…”
“Besides the ice cream jingle?” Scoop interjected.
“Very funny.” I shot him a glare, then returned my attention to the engine. “Okay, this thingamajig” – I pointed at a random part – “looks… important?”
“Sure does,” Scoop agreed, nodding solemnly.
“Right.” My confidence waned, but I refused to admit defeat. “Well, it seems to be connected to the… uh, doohickey” – another wild guess – “so I’ll just… tighten it?”
“Sounds like a plan, boss!” Scoop cheered me on, clearly sharing my cluelessness.
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, reaching for a wrench. With shaky hands, I grasped the thingamajig and tried to secure it in place.
“Is… is that supposed to happen?” Scoop asked as sparks flew from the engine.
“Probably not!” I yelped, jumping back. “Well, at least we know what’s wrong now.”
“True,” Scoop said, attempting a grin. “So, uh, what’s next?”
“Next?” I sighed, wiping sweat from my brow. “I guess I’ll just have to try again until something works.”
“Sounds like a solid plan, boss,” Scoop said, his voice tinged with a mix of admiration and pity.
“Thanks,” I replied, gritting my teeth as I dove back into the fray, determined to get this ridiculous vehicle – and my life – back on track.
“Okay, okay, I think I’ve got it now,” I announced, tightening the final screw with a triumphant grin. “Third time’s the charm, right?”
“Let’s hope so, boss,” Scoop replied, crossing his fingers as he leaned in for a closer look.
“Here goes nothing.” I held my breath and turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered to life, then roared like a beast waking from its slumber. “Yes! We’re back in business!”
“Great job, boss!” Scoop slapped me on the back, beaming with pride. “Now let’s get you to that airport!”
“Agreed,” I said, clambering into the passenger seat as Scoop took the wheel. We sped off, the ice cream truck’s jingle blaring like a battle cry as we raced down the highway.
As we rounded a bend, I spotted a group of leather-clad bikers on the road ahead. My heart leapt – not out of fear, but inspiration. “Hey, Scoop,” I called over the wind rushing through the open window. “How about we hand out some ice cream to those bikers?”
“Are you sure, boss?” Scoop eyed the gang warily. “They don’t exactly look like our usual clientele.”
“Exactly!” I grinned, feeling the thrill of spontaneity surge through my veins. “It’ll be fun!”
Scoop shrugged, then steered the truck towards the motorcycle gang. As we pulled up alongside them, I leaned out the window, waving an assortment of ice cream bars in the air. “Ice cream, anyone?” I shouted, doing my best to sound cheery despite the ominous rumble of their engines.
The bikers exchanged confused glances, then one burly man with tattoos snaking up his arms gave a hesitant nod. “Why not?” he called back, reaching for a popsicle. “It’s a hot day, after all!”
“See?” I whispered to Scoop as the bikers eagerly grabbed their frozen treats. “This wasn’t such a bad idea, was it?”
“Surprisingly, no,” Scoop admitted, watching the scene unfold with bemusement.
“Who knew motorcycle gangs had a sweet tooth?” I mused, beaming at our unexpected success.
“Everyone loves ice cream, boss,” Scoop declared with a chuckle. “Even the toughest of tough guys.”
As we continued down the highway, the bikers trailing behind us like an entourage of sugar-fueled rebels, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie. Here we were, an unlikely duo in an even more unlikely vehicle, forging ahead despite every obstacle life threw our way.
“Next stop: the airport!” I declared, my determination renewed. “And this time, nothing’s going to stand in our way.”
Scoop nodded, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “You got that right, boss.”
“Hey, tough guy!” I called out to the tattooed biker as he slurped his cherry popsicle. “You ever try one of these dipped in chocolate?”
He looked at me, the ice cream momentarily forgotten, and raised an eyebrow. “You got chocolate sauce in there?”
“Of course,” I replied, reaching into the truck and pulling out a bottle of fudge. “What kind of ice cream truck would we be without chocolate sauce?”
“Fair enough,” he said with a grin, holding out his popsicle for a generous drizzle.
“Go ahead, give it a try,” I encouraged him, watching as he took a cautious bite. His eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s good stuff.”
“See, we’re not just about the ice cream,” I explained, feeling a sense of pride in our little operation. “We’re about making people happy.”
“Alright, alright,” another biker chimed in, revving his engine. “Enough chit-chat, let’s get this show on the road!”
“Right you are,” I replied, nodding to Scoop who gunned the engine once more. The motorcycle gang cheered, their ice cream treats held high in a salute of solidarity.
As we neared the airport, I noticed the signs becoming increasingly difficult to decipher. “Scoop, do you have any idea where we’re going?” I asked, my voice tinged with worry.
“Uhh, not exactly, boss,” he admitted, squinting at the confusing array of arrows and symbols.
“Great,” I muttered, feeling a surge of panic. “Just what we need.”
Suddenly, a loud siren blared behind us, and I turned to see flashing lights barreling down the tarmac. “Oh no,” I breathed, realizing we’d somehow ended up on the runway.
“Look out!” Scoop shouted, swerving the truck to narrowly avoid a collision with an Airbus jet. The ground crew gaped at us, their jaws dropping in disbelief as we sped past them.
“Sorry about that!” I called out, waving sheepishly as we continued our mad dash toward the terminal. “Just trying to catch a flight!”
“Boss, I don’t think they’re laughing,” Scoop muttered, gripping the wheel tightly.
“Never mind them,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. “We’ve got bigger problems. Like how on earth are we going to make it to our gate in time?”
“Leave that to me,” Scoop replied, his eyes narrowing with determination. “I’ve got a plan.”
“Alright, Scoop, let’s hear that plan of yours!” I shouted over the cacophony of jet engines and frantic airport personnel.
“Okay, boss! Hold on tight!” he yelled, stepping on the gas with a renewed sense of purpose. The ice cream truck lurched forward, tires screeching as we raced down the tarmac.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, my knuckles white from gripping the dashboard. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—how had we ended up here? Was there any chance we’d still make our flight?
“Positive, boss!” Scoop replied, swerving expertly between massive planes and bewildered ground crews. “We’re going to make it!”
“Watch out for that luggage cart!” I yelped, bracing myself as we narrowly avoided an unfortunate collision.
“Thanks, boss!” Scoop grinned, his eyes never leaving the chaos ahead of us. “Almost there!”
“Look, there’s the terminal!” I exclaimed, pointing to the familiar glass building in the distance. “Just a little further!”
“Here we go!” Scoop shouted, making one final turn onto the main road. The ice cream truck barreled toward the airport entrance, horn blaring triumphantly.
“Stop, stop!” I cried, unbuckling my seatbelt and flinging open the door. “We’ve made it!”
“Phew!” Scoop sighed, bringing the truck to a screeching halt just outside the terminal doors. “That was intense!”
“Intense is an understatement,” I muttered, stepping out of the ice cream truck and breathing in the fresh airport air. “But we made it, Scoop. We actually made it!”
“Wouldn’t have been possible without that motorcycle gang’s encouragement, boss” Scoop chuckled, giving me a thumbs-up as I gathered my bags.
“True,” I laughed, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the wake of our wild adventure. “But let’s not make a habit of this, okay? Next time, let’s stick to a regular Uber.”
“Deal, boss!” Scoop saluted, a twinkle in his eye.
With that, I turned and entered the bustling airport, leaving behind the trusty ice cream truck and its enigmatic driver. As I walked toward my gate, a smile spread across my face, thinking about the absurdity of it all. It had been one wild ride, but at least I’d have a hilarious story to tell once I reached my destination.
