THE OBSERVATION BOOTH
OP /ED & Photo By Andrea Dialect
CAN YOU DECRYPT THIS LIFE PUZZLE?
CLUE: IT’S A SLOW READ….
25 cent Icees are 25 cents. No need for tunes that lure cause you know that Bodega next to the liquor store has them right inside. That other dude playin’ that lame tune from his squared-off ride maps out the hood like he maps out his visits. Knowingly by passin’ my block altogether, or he whizzes by like goody two shoes avoiding trouble.
Mr. Frosty & all those other ice cream-haulin’ cats know where it’s at. They know that what they got can’t compete with this treat. ‘Cause, from the jump design scheme, is functionally sleek, with cool being factored in. Skins let you see clear through to the other side. Ain’t no brand bully show boatin’ on that plastic, strong-arming ya to buy.
No need for theatrics. You’ll be enjoying the treat in no time. Quarter Icees are dead on enjoyment, ain’t no feat as you beat the heat; while you’re slurpin’, you’ll be sippin’ down every last drip that’s crystallized inside. Not a drop goes to waste ‘cause it’s a matter of taste.
But be informed, variety makes it tough to decide. You get what you paid for, 4-sure, and you’re much obliged. The cat that made Quarter Icees had a plan, He the man. He knows that a quick dime beats a slow buck in hand, hands down, anytime. He gets mad respect ‘cause he don’t need to take me for a ride. That’s what makes him okay, around my way.
That’s why his street cool/cred level ranks so high. The ol’ boy knows that he has the ability to create whenever he decides. Yo, and when he does, you best believe that once again, both sides will be on the come-up, both his and mine. Check it; on the real, that’s why we tell that other dude to take his lame tunes and stay on the move. Be out, Bro.
He still be jockin’ though, with ears hangin’ low playin’ steadily in the distance on the slide. Yo, ice cream man, just ride on by. You ain’t got no Quarter Icees!
WHO’S THAT?
Granny’s son and I went to Home Depot yesterday. It was a nice day to take a stroll. I enjoyed pushing him along in his stroller. Our shopping experience was pretty nice, but things started souring when we’d head for check out, and he’d spot that super-sized bag of Sour Patch candy, which I refused to buy, and the icee cart right outside the front door didn’t make things any better.
Once again, I found myself trying to coax him along. He’s on foot because his Combi stroller with the easy glide swivel had become a mini hauler for three pairs of vinyl blinds and those bags of random items I’d purchased. The blinds were a project which I was anticipating.
Luckily, vocal coaxing finally got us on our way, until a couple paces shy of exiting the parking lot, The Ice Cream Man whizzes by. The lure of that folk song echoing out “Do You Ears Hang Low” knowingly is said to have a bit of a dark past. But unbeknownst to Granny’s son, that ol’ folksy song had been music to his ears.
In an instant, I watched those bright eyes turn big as saucers; a mouth had been transfixed a gasp. The repetitive singsong bellowed out like a dying man’s plea, which resembled an audio clip of my boy Eddie Murphy in the character’s song,” I Got Some Ice Cream,” remixed into “Grandma, Can I Have Some?”
As a tag-along, he had already proven to be a challenge. But for Lord’s Sake, that face, those eyes. Convincingly and as swift as a lover chants, he’d make me putty in hand. Whew! Besides, how much more challenging can a three-year-old licking on a drippy ice cream pop, dragging along while I juggle three blinds and two bags of stuff in a re-purposed stroller which easy glide apparently malfunctions when the built-in indicator is aware that a child isn’t propped up & comfy inside.
He was pleased when he realized that things would be going his way. That slow crawl had turned into a strut so swift that I stumbled along, trying to keep up with the little hand grasping that stroller handle. I’d been told to “come on” in a tone that said, “Get the fire under ya, Granny!” As we approached the rear of the truck, I gleamed with pride. It feels good when mini-mes ask for somethin’ and assets are much obliged.
Our server, a young, pretty little thang, likely around thirteen, had pearly whites gleaming just as much as the white streak adorning the ice cream truck on its sides. I was being strong-armed because she knew that once ya approached that glassless square of window, you’re sold.
In this instance, the child need not be reprimanded about shuffling alphabets phonetically today because that pic was over a thousand words. Surprisingly, there was no mishmash of letters like the infamous “Wook Grandma” translated, “Look, Grandma!” Surprisingly, Spiderman’s name was enunciated with the precision of a British scholar. I’d have a whole another experience when I took a look at the guy boasting his ware. $3.50? Boy was Spiderman a bit beside himself. Logically, the guy knew nothing of modesty.
Eyes buck and pupils dilated knowingly is that telltale sign that says she thinking, she’s thinking hard. But the pressure is on, and Granny’s son’s singsong has proven to be louder, and with palms extended, Spiderman is peering at me hard. Surely if I didn’t act fast, I’d get a web lashing by him or from little missy whose welcoming grin had become not. ‘Cause a grill held steadily on one side is proof. Teeth are partially in sight when bearing down on faltering patience which acts like an invisible retainer keeping teeth tightly clutched. Furthermore, obvious and subtle body shifts say…Take it or leave it, lady!
Three dollars & fifty cents had been a bit much. It was a few bucks shy of one of my favorite half-gallon sizes. A Royal Sundae would be so much friendlier now. But this kid’s fav would have me ranking high in the competition with the offspring, and I knew it. So, I paid the piper, and four bucks were given to Granny’s Son, who was much more decisive when eagerly handing over the cash.
Missy beamed while sifting through those overly priced delights. Obviously, we had made amends. Amazingly, the two were equally delighted, that being the little Ice Princess and our aging DJ. Her Dad I suppose. Into the freezer box happily she goes, and then out comes the man.
Shockingly, when handing Granny’s Son the goods, I was dumbfounded by what appeared to be a micro pop swathed in what looked like, by comparison, a kitchen-sized garbage bag. It plopped to the bottom as granny’s son took grasp. I’d been had for sure. That ice pop would remain in its packaging until we made it home. The weather would permit that. Safely we’d make our way across the parking lot. Those alluring tunes could still be heard in the distance. Did my ears hang low? Heck yeah!
Finally, we were safely on the curbside; Sincere walked alongside me, holding onto the stroller handle. But, soon after, I’d allow him to abandon his post walking a few paces ahead. I noticed a change in his disposition; while trailing behind, I’d watch that child carry the package in hand like The Emperor embarking upon the town square. Just as haughty, he’d walk with his back erect. There was a sense of pride on his face. In that strut, in his eyes. I chuckled as that boy walked as if he’d just made a mortgage on his first property. He walked alone, and at that moment, in his mind’s eye, I didn’t exist!
WHAT’S THAT?
It was pretty amusing at first, I must admit. Yet, it was quite alarming. At what age does this happen? Sincere is three years old. Our objective is to raise him to be a minimalist. One who is quite aware of his options for more but never in need of it. Could he have been tainted by splurges or shopping sprees in the womb? When we arrived home hurriedly, I’d grab that saucer off the pantry shelf, sitting it on the table awaiting the great revel. With some help, Granny’s Son would wrangle that package until finally unmasking its contents.
I ain’t one to gossip, but I’m tellin’ you that the diameter of that head, which I might add, had been all it was to it. Made you think that our webbed friend had been mispackaged, and they boyz at that ol’ manufacturing plant had given ya Beetle Juice in his stead.
Out plops this red, white, and blue concoction. The color literally being our webbed homies’ only identifying marker. I suppose lines were slapped across it, which had been a face-simulating webbing. Jokingly, the thing looked like that Chucky Doll doused with gasoline after throwing him into the fire. The kicker was that those gumballs that Spiderman had for eyes were noticeably lopsided, which meant Spiderman was cockeyed, which also told there was a meltdown.
Logically, I sensed a cover-up of his past ‘cause eyes never lies. But, now, I’d never let my boy on to it. Seemingly not that it would have mattered. Clearly, by the way, those eyeballs had been expeditiously chucked into his mouth. That chipper chap beamed like he received a winning ticket to the Chocolate Factory from Charlie himself. Chewing as if chomping on that famous, awesomely delicious, never aging gum. He’d chew those eyeballs until they could be churned no more. And he licked and lapped on that saucer until there wasn’t a trace of red, white, or blue with the same tenacity of my neighbor’s cockatoo lapin from his dish. Certainly, I got my brownie points, and the kid got what he wanted, making it worth every cent. But when does this happen?
When do we become so intrigued by stuff? When does that package begin to evoke such pride despite its lack of luster content? For that euphoric rush, seemingly, we throw all else to the wind, ignoring satisfaction and practicality as chucking affordability oftentimes. We need what we need, we want what we want, and it’s all in the name of getting caught having it. We gotta have it, we’re junk junkies constantly in need of our fix. That’s why we eat it all despite lacking good taste. We gobble it down and lick the bowl, being contented and just as smug as my Granny Son had.
Perhaps Spiderman being cockeyed ain’t by default. Just as the corporate giants often are as brutally honest as Miss Missy’s cues when they say shut up and buy it. Perhaps red, white, and blue hues represent the identifying marker of a lap napkin raised to the mouths of character reps who dab as they entertain at tea parties. Like the man, perhaps those lines really do simulate webbing. The same ol tune is always playing in the background, and “Ain’t no Quarter Icees” can be both question and a statement.
Logically either it’s one inquiring about cost or another’s demand for options. Payment can be taken directly from the hand of the recipient or freely given by the other as he yanks it from mine. It can be an image now transfixed in heads taken from the side of an ice cream truck or whatever that overrides that mess sprawled across that saucer or as art forms that form perceptions of those hideous proclamations and my connectedness to those who connect (like Granny’s Son did) which makes such ugly acceptable.
When does what somebody else produces become more relevant than I? Boy, do my ears hang low!
DO YA KNOW THIS SONG?
Spiderman, Spiderman,
Does whatever a spider can.
Spins a web, any size,
Catches thieves just like flies.
Look out! Here comes the Spiderman.
Is he strong? Listen bud –
He’s got radioactive blood.
Can he swing from a thread?
Take a look overhead.
Hey there! There goes the Spiderman.
In the chill of the night,
At the scene of the crime,
Like a streak of light,
He arrives just in time!
Spiderman, Spiderman,
Friendly neighborhood Spiderman.
Wealth and fame, he’s ignored –
Action is his reward.
To him,
Life is a great big bang-up –
Wherever there’s a hang-up,
You’ll find the Spiderman!
The Observation Booth is utilized as a space for Andrea Dialect to stumble through, which aids in life and brand development. It can also be used by readers, subjects, and features to assist or advance our world or their own. It is a peek into one’s world from the outside. It is also for the development of content.
Everything printed here is in draft form; thus, error is welcomed and to be expected. Everything is constantly evolving, is her mantra. Seeing the work in printed format is the initial step and is quite valuable and therapeutic for developing all forms. Like Everything, Andrea Dialect uses this space as a test lab for test study and a test subject. Here you will also find influencers, professionals, and muses who are considered “clay” who lend their image to change as doing us proud who are contributors to the upward progress of human progress. It is a platform for the growth, inspiration, motivation, and development of herself, her subjects, and her readers. Enjoy.
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