Coiled Again

I headed to the bottom floor of the office the other day to pick up some Mike and Ike’s, cause Mike and Ike’s kick some serious ass.  The vending machine we have at work is one of those old-school kinds, a big massive obelisk, its entire front covered in glass, welcoming its visitors to peer at the rows and rows of dazzling colors. Candies, chips, cookies, honey buns…  I always thought the Honey Buns seemed terribly out of place within that display.  With all those choices, did you ever pick a Honey Bun?  Anyway, all of these products of sloth are organized ceremoniously in their own lines, propped up by a weird white coil, and when you pop in your change and punch B11, the coil begins it’s creepy serpentine crawl, spinning slowly towards you, as if it would head straight through that glass if it could, boring right through your chest, grinding it’s way through your internal organs and out your back, where it would continue to swirl, spinning madly, slowly, straight down the hallway to continue it’s path of evil.  Fortunately for mankind, the coil is of limited length, and so instead of brutal human destruction, instead it just spins until it carries that dumb bag of candy to the edge of the precipice, where the bag eventually falls to its freedom, escaping the coiled bondage where it has spent the entirety of its short existence.

I was observing this odd routine while waiting for the Mike and Ike’s to fall to the bottom of the machine with that odd, embarrassing plunk, so I could stuff my hand into that metal flap and dig around blindly until grabbing onto my treasure, yank my hand out of that weird contraption, and let the flap swing back down with a loud bang, inviting all nearby strangers to look over and see the fatass with his new snack.  It seems to me that this stupid style of vending machine has been around for at least seven or eight hundred years.  I can’t recall a time when this vending machine hasn’t existed, with it’s antiquated digital coin readout, it’s big bulbous buttons labeled with Parker Brothers’ Battleship coordinates, originally white, but stained a tobacco-teeth yellow after years of contact with sticky human fingers.  The strange ritual of having all the awesome stuff in the top row, decreasing in quality and excitement with every row towards the bottom, until you get to the second to the last row, which always seems to have cheese crackers that were made specifically for drunks in hotel lobbies.   The last row is gum and Certs.  Always gum and Certs.  Occasionally LifeSavers.  Always Certs.

I was thinking about how little this particular type of vending machine has evolved over the last three or four centuries, pondering as to why this particular piece of machinery has remained the one unchanging constant to bridge the gap between the Industrial and Technological eras.  I thought about this as the coil did it’s evil hell-spin in my direction and the bag of Mike and Ike’s moved towards it’s new daddy, reaching the edge of the cliff where it dangled in the air for a moment and…  remained.  Remained there, hanging, that asshole of a coil refusing to release it’s grasp from that bag of awesome that was supposed to be mine.  Mine, dammnit.

I could feel my blood begin to boil.  Could feel the rage burning in my chest, quickly up my throat, mere moments from racing from my lips in a loud and unstoppable “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK YOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUU!!!”

What is it about this situation that makes us so damn mad?  It’s clearly an epidemic, having been portrayed numerous times in television and movies. It seems that we’ve all been victim to it.  And holy crap, does it make us mad.   I was trying to understand what about this situation, with all the other crap I deal with on a daily basis, that is so incredibly upsetting to me.  Is it as simple as the waste of money?  Nah, I’m not terribly concerned with 6 dimes and a nickel.  No, I think it’s those coils.  I think it’s the way they just screw with you.  Pushing that bag of candy closer, closer, slooooowly… aaaaaaand stop.  You have just lost 65 cents.   You should have bought an apple, you fat fuck.  That’s what the coil is doing, it’s toying with you.  It knows you already feel kinda guilty for stuffing change into that slot so you can stuff some crap into your mouth that you totally don’t need and you know you don’t need.  You’re not hungry.  You just want it because it’s there.  And because it’s colorful.  And because it’s something. Something to have.  It’s the exact same emotion you had when you were 5 years old – like that time when I was at the hardware store with my dad and I was begging him to buy me a bungee cord.  Did I want a bungee cord? Did my idiot toddler brain have any idea what I would possibly want to do with a bungee cord?  No, of course not.  I wanted it because it was there.  Like those Mike and Ike’s.  And I know this, and I feel guilty about it, but still, here I am, stuffing dimes and nickels into a box because I, a 33 yr old man, was seduced by a bunch of colors.

I know it’s stupid, but I succumb to it.  I’ve sold out, and I’ve accepted my weakness,  and then I get screwed anyway.   And oh man, that’s infuriating.    I think it’s the equivalent of going to a fast food drive-thru and inevitably returning home to discover they left out the DAMN NUGGETS, MAN!   THE BEST PART!!!   Same thing.  You suffer the inner-shame of deciding to eat something that just screams “I’m fat and lazy!!!”, and you don’t even get it!

Sometimes we just want to be weak, and we can get really pissy when you call us out on it.

I wonder if this is the same feeling that a creepy adulterous husband feels when he tries to pick up a hooker, only to discover it’s an undercover cop.   Probably so.  I’m sure this guy can empathize with my Mike and Ike dilemma, as he picks up the phone from the jail cell to call his wife… “Honey, I’ve done something terrible…”

Anyway, I stared in hatred at that bag of Mike and Ike’s as it hung there, the coil dangling it out in front of me, mocking me.  And then a strange thing happened.  The coil began to move.  Slowly.  Towards me.   As if I’d just put in another 65 cents.  Or, as if the coil was spotting me sixty five cents!  The bag fell to the bottom of the machine.  And the coil kept spinning.  Another bag moved to the edge.  And IT dropped to the floor!

Two of them, man!  Two for the price of one!

And, tell you the truth, this has happened more than once.  The coil stops.  The bag hangs.  The coil starts up.  Gives me two bags.  “This one’s on me, Bones.”

Twice this has happened. If it happened just once, I’d chalk it off as a miracle.  One of those impossible circumstances you read about it, but know that it could never happen to you.   But twice, man?   That ain’t a miracle.  That’s a business plan.

It seems that the Vending Machine has evolved, after all.  After 700 years of stasis, the scientists at the Vending Machine have finally figured out the answer to the ever elusive question of what to do when the coil doesn’t go far enough.   Apparently the fat cats in the Vending Machine corporate behemoth have finally understood that it’s probably a better business plan to err on the side of the customer, and when the bag gets caught on the coil, to spin that bastard a little more, perhaps losing one extra bag of candy in the process.  To sacrifice a bag of candy and save the company from bad PR and immense, unrelenting hatred that comes from a stuck bag of Oreos.

I’m quite happy to see the Vending Machine guys making a comeback.  Putting all their best scientists to work for the good of we, the consumer.  It may not sound like much, but I’m confident.  Hell, I’ve seen two occurrences of this product in action, and that’s already two more times than I’ve seen a Zune in action.   I think this invention could change the world.  I’ve never seen anything so amazing as this, and I’ve seen lots of badass inventions, namely Laser Tag .

Thank you Coil.  For your gift to me.  For your future gifts to Mankind.  I love you Coil.  Spin your love down on me.   And I’ll spin with you.   Two lovers, coiled together as one, embracing, spinning,  loving.  And this is when it’s time to stop typing.