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Mom wants a quart of Chocolate Milk
Dec. 3rd, 2023 08:17 pmThere was something bold about riding along in the milkman's truck - with open doors - and the pavement gliding dangerously below. There were two milk trucks in the neighborhood - Whitey (yes, that was really his name) drove the Cloverland Dairy truck and the other dairy (Jos. Krob) had various drivers. I prefered Cloverland since I knew Whitey - and my mom would buy milk from him exclusively. Well, I think too that the small clover leaves on the bottle label spoke in wholesome whispers. Usually, I would attempt to con the milkman about mom 'wanting a quart of chocolate' - I think he knew better - but he also knew my mom was a softie and wouldn't mind. That stuff was blended so ultra smooth - it had none of those Nestle Quik dry-powdered insolvent lumps.
The truck rattled like crazy - even though it was riveted everywhere. The gear shift and parking-brake levers were long enough to be operated while standing or from the fold-down seat. It wasn't a Ford, GMC or even a Chevy - it was a rather a super heavy-duty No-Brand truck or so it seemed. The floor was shiny worn aluminum with a raised diamond pattern - the kind typically found on catwalks. There was a flat dashboard with round generic-looking gauges and a little notebook fastened to the steering column with a small brass chain.
That feels like late summer mornings - when the sun was burning off the fog, the grass still wet and the locusts and cicadas already noisy. There is a certain smell and feel to it - a tar in the cracks and concrete steaming kind of memory - riding in that truck.
* * *
Are they still carrying metal baskets of returnable glass quarts?
Do the bottles rattle and do they have a foil cap or a paper top with a little tab?
Do kids in the neighborhood ride in their curvaceous trucks?
Are they wearing uniforms or hats?... possibly a bow-tie?
And finally are they called by their first names with a "the Milkman" attached to the end of it?
The truck rattled like crazy - even though it was riveted everywhere. The gear shift and parking-brake levers were long enough to be operated while standing or from the fold-down seat. It wasn't a Ford, GMC or even a Chevy - it was a rather a super heavy-duty No-Brand truck or so it seemed. The floor was shiny worn aluminum with a raised diamond pattern - the kind typically found on catwalks. There was a flat dashboard with round generic-looking gauges and a little notebook fastened to the steering column with a small brass chain.
That feels like late summer mornings - when the sun was burning off the fog, the grass still wet and the locusts and cicadas already noisy. There is a certain smell and feel to it - a tar in the cracks and concrete steaming kind of memory - riding in that truck.
* * *
Are they still carrying metal baskets of returnable glass quarts?
Do the bottles rattle and do they have a foil cap or a paper top with a little tab?
Do kids in the neighborhood ride in their curvaceous trucks?
Are they wearing uniforms or hats?... possibly a bow-tie?
And finally are they called by their first names with a "the Milkman" attached to the end of it?
