It was a cold winter morning. Mr. Iceman was walking to work. He worked at an arena in Calgary, Alberta. He saw something up ahead that upset him.
“What are you doing?” asked Mr. Iceman, who approached a man who was painting a thin layer of ice on the windshields of cars that were parked along the side of the city streets.
“I am frosting the windows of these cars,” said the man.
“That I can see,” said Mr. Iceman. “But, why are you doing that?”
“My name is Mr. Frost,” said the man. “That is what I do. Don’t you see how pretty the windows are?”
Mr. Iceman took a good look at the window that Mr. Frost had just finished painting. He had to admit that Mr. Frost’s work was beautiful.
“It is beautiful work that you do,” said Mr. Iceman. “However, what I don’t understand is why you are able to frost these windows but I am not allowed to ice the streets?”
“My work is not really going to harm anyone,” said Mr. Frost. “Your work, however, would hurt people, a lot of people.”
Mr. Iceman thought about what Mr. Frost had said and he had to admit that Mr. Frost was right.
“You are right,” said Mr. Iceman. “My work would hurt a lot of people. People would slip and fall on the ice.”
“With frost,” said Mr. Frost. “All people have to do is either scrape the windows or turn on the defrost in their vehicles.”
Mr. Iceman accepted Mr. Frost’s explanation. He knew hat ice was much more dangerous than frost ever could be. He learned that he could never ice the streets of Calgary, or anywhere else for that matter. He did know that he was very grateful that he was in charge of making ice at the arenas.
“And,” said Mr. Iceman to himself. “I do happen to make the best ice of anyone.”
Moral of this Story: