In the area of the north west Las Vegas apartments where I moved not too long ago, there was a contest going on. An ice cream truck was trying to reach 1 million customers, and he was willing to give a special prize to the lucky one who would take the 1 millionth spot. People were emptying out their piggy pangs and couch surfing to find all of the loose change they could to buy some ice cream. Whenever the ice cream truck comes, I put on my running shoes in case I have to sprint to catch it. The driver can get pretty far sometimes, and I don’t want to miss out on my occasional chocolate taco.
Each day people would come to the ice cream truck and buy something, but leave with a feeling of disappointment that they weren’t the lucky customer. This is the first time that I’ve actually seen anyone look sad when they were buying ice cream. The ice cream salesman has a counter on the inside of his truck that helps him keep track of all of the people who buy ice cream from him. If he didn’t have that counter, he would either be doing it on a piece of paper or have to do it in his head, which wouldn’t be easy to remember.
I heard the ice cream truck bells ringing again one day, and gathered my shoes and change to meet him outside the apartment. There was a line of people waiting for him as soon as I got downstairs. At this point, I had forgotten about the contest and just wanted to get my ice cream. When I asked for my chocolate taco and gave him the money, the ice cream salesman told me that I was the 1 millionth customer. He gave me a prize of a year supply of any ice cream I wanted. There was only one ice cream that I could eat all year and not get tired of seeing.