A vending machine discharges a can of soda from its square anus as long as you feed it four pieces of 5 peso coins, or a used 20 peso bill. It has two mouths to devour the money, and an eye the size of a grown man's finger flashing digits that tell you if it's satisfied with the amount you have fed it or if it wants more because the numbers don't add up. If fed well it immediately excretes the fecal metal. Your hands embrace the chill and the sweat of the tin can shit, where you pull the tab off its aluminum scalp and drink more of the shit.
Like humans, a vending machine can also experience stress. When it does, it becomes constipated. When it becomes constipated, you have a problem.
Sometimes we bully the vending machine to give us our shit. If giving it a shake our human strength can muster doesn't work, kicking it at the side might force it to crap. Sometimes we wish we could claw the damn soda crap from inside through the dispensing slot.
If the vending machine and the universe has conspired against our desire for a carbonated gulp and belch, we surrender our names and the amount of money we lost to the security guard's ledger, filled with the scribbles of other disappointed individuals. You can almost see their disappointment from the weight of the strokes of their cursives on thin paper.
Finally, you get your drink from the water cooler, and you experience a certain enlightment about water: how it is so much better, just by being its own usual water.
2 comments:
i've not experienced this, and hopefully i won't in the future...
nice piece about a seemingly mundane happening. you put the vending machine in a different light. i will remember this analogy whenever i see that seemingly important vendo machine that spits out new twenty-peso bills nor shiny 1-peso coins.
:D
Yep, but it's for the old vendo. The new one hasn't developed its own rebellious consciousness yet, hehehe :-)
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