Ice cream used to be a kid’s food. As a child I would eagerly await the warm weather so that we could make the pilgrimage to one of the Dairy Queens in Sudbury (which at the time were nothing more than stands and were only open in the summer). Otherwise, I would store change under the mattress in the event that the Dickie Dee ice cream bike decided to grace our street with it’s presence. My mother didn’t necessarily approve (perhaps because there was a good chance the driver was a pedophile) so I was careful not to order the phantom because the carcinogenic purple dye stuck on my tongue would be a dead give away when I got home again. The rare time I traveled past the Hungry Bear in French River or the Espanola turnoff (depending if I was heading south or west) there was an off chance we would stop but was usually few and far between and usually centred around my mother’s craving for a scoop of Tiger Tail.
Unfortunately, in a manner synonymous with walkers infiltrating cities across America, hipsters have decided that ice cream in now in their wheel house. Maybe it started earlier than I thought. Years ago, Dennis the Menace was scrapped as Dairy Queen’s “spokesperson” and replaced by savvy commercials and sultry lips beckoning those with the wallets to come and bring the kids if you want. A bigger testament to this theory is what has happened in Toronto. Grown adults are now forfeiting coffee houses and Netflix marathons to stand in line for hours to pay asinine amounts for ice cream. In most cases, kids are nowhere to be found. Take Bang Bang Ice cream for example. In addition to the possible sexual connotations of the name, I previously blogged that was there one night I got in line only to find soft-core cartoon porn projected onto the wall while a hipster dad in front me in line (who presumably only went to grab the kids an ice cream sandwich) had to cover his hipster kid’s eyes. In other words, their ice cream came with a side of ass. A second example was a recent trip to Sweet Jesus, the newish soft serve joint. Shunned by some zealots for its anti-Christ antics like an emblem featuring an upside-down cross or a website that ironically features satanic looking children with tattoos, pet monkeys and gold chains, a key characteristic of this place is a disgruntled and tattooed ice cream artist taking your order instead of a 16 year kid who has their first job and splotches of melted product all over their shirt. The flagship location is a few blocks away from the Rogers Centre and I sat watching the parade of people waiting to score a treat. From the other direction a dad and his daughter (who was maybe 12) arrived. The look of befuddlement on the dad’s face was priceless. I could read his mind as he looked down at his daughter’s equally puzzled face. Essentially he was thinking that all he wanted to do is get his daughter a cone after the game and the limiting factor was an hour wait because of a bunch or grown adults were waiting in line. I’m sure if the girl was confused or upset or both but they quietly departed perhaps in search of another post-game treats that wouldn’t be impaired by Toronto’s urban “walkers”. Maybe these places should have a kid’s express lane where parents can bring their kids for a quick and porn-free ice cream experience. Trust me…the hipsters don’t mind waiting….it makes them cooler and gives them opportunities to discuss their social angst, explain their tattoos and show off their baggy jean shorts.
I fully acknowledge that this is likely another trend that the hipsters have plowed through similar to tacos, burgers and anything with kale but I’m hoping it is short lived. We have already removed a good portion of our children’s ability to be kids with social media stimulation and fears to let them explore their own neighbourhoods. Let’s give them their ice cream back for Sweet Jesus sakes.