“The Ice Cream Truck”
Theo has spent the couple’s savings on a used ice cream truck, now parked in the driveway. His partner, Jess, has just seen it. Before she can speak, he launches his defense — which turns out to be about more than ice cream.
Before you say anything — and I can see the thing your face is doing — I just need you to stand at the window with me for one second and look at her. In our driveway. Isn’t she beautiful?
Okay. Yes. I spent the vacation money. And, technically, the emergency money. And I understand that a truck we cannot fit in the garage is now, itself, the emergency. I have done the irony math, Jess. I’m aware.
But hear the whole pitch. People love ice cream. That is not a trend, that is the human condition. Weddings, parks, that sad little office where nobody talks to each other — I roll up, I play the song, and suddenly everybody is nine years old again. I’m not selling ice cream. I’m selling being nine.
And — okay. The real thing. My dad drove one. When I was a kid. Whole summers. I used to ride shotgun and hand people their change, and he’d say, “Theo, look at them. We’re the best part of somebody’s whole day.” I didn’t buy a truck, Jess. I bought that.
I know it’s insane. I know the timing is insane. But I found her on a Tuesday, for eight thousand dollars, and it honestly felt like he sent her.
So here’s my ask. Give me one summer. One. If it fails, I’ll sell her, I’ll get the boring job, I will never play the song again. But get in. Passenger seat. Let me show you the best part of somebody’s day.
How to Play It
Objective: get Jess to say yes — to buy him one summer. He’s not defending a purchase, he’s pitching a dream and asking his partner to believe in it with him.
The turn: “My dad drove one.” The bit becomes real. The joke about selling ‘being nine’ suddenly has a source, and the whole speech reframes from reckless to tender.
Don’t tip the sad part too early — let the salesman patter genuinely be funny first, so the dad reveal actually lands. And keep it a conversation: Jess is right there, reacting. Play to her, not out front.
Who it suits: a charming actor who can ride the line between comedy and heart. A two-minute comedic piece that shows warmth and range, not just jokes.
Want Will to Coach You Through It?
A monologue is a two-person scene where the other person never speaks. Working it 1-on-1 with a working actor is the fastest way to make it land.