The Vending Machine

I stood uncomfortably in front of one of the large refridgerators in a convenience store. The refridgerator was located at the back and spanned across the length of the store, behind a total of six, large panels of glass doors. There were only drinks in this refridgerator; ice-cream, pudding, and other chilled products were in a separate, smaller refridgerator close to the cashier.

The drinks were neatly categorized. On the far left were numerous brands of water--distilled, mineral, flavoured, etc.--available in bottles of various sizes. Beside that came the alcoholic beverages, from beer in cans and in bottles, to larger bottles of whiskey and other hard liquor to cans of bubbly cocktails imported from Japan. Directly to the right were energy drinks, a majority of them in sleek, metallic black or blue cans with a tinge of red or yellow, as if to emphasize the boosts of artificial energy contained inside. Next were juice boxes; I remember those from drinking them all throughout my childhood. Grape juice, orange juice, milk tea, coffee, soya milk--you name it, you got it. Under the juice boxes was the usual selection of soda and other carbonated drinks, and after that… well, you get the point. In any case, the options in choosing what to drink were endless and this, miraculously, never fails to be the case in any convenience store. So much that it unnerves me every time, and right now would not be an exception.

I turned away from the refridgerator's glass panels and hurried back through the aisles of junk food, past the cashier and out the sliding doors. The heat slammed into my face as I left the heavily air-conditioned store, but I welcomed it as I walked over to the nearest lamp post, leaning against it and sucking in a breath of the damp air of Hong Kong.

A few minutes later, my friend Felix came out of the store. Spotting me, he headed towards this way with a bottle of iced tea in hand. I knew Felix from middle school; although we weren't exactly close, we've hung out countless times since we were in our early teens. And now in our college years, we still don't seem to be minding each other's company.

"When'd you sneak out here?" he asked when he got to where I was. "I thought you were buying a drink, but when I turned around you weren't even in the store anymore." He twisted the cap of his iced tea with a swift jerk, and it came undone with a satisfying crack of the plastic seal.

"Yeah, well, I don't really like convenience stores."

"Why? They've got everything."

"That's one of the problems. There's so much to choose from. Don't you feel this pressure from behind you to make a decision quickly, like the cashier's staring and waiting for you to pick something so you can pay for it? It's stressful."

Felix raised his eyebrows. "Dude, you're weird, man. I just take what I feel like having and pay for it, whenever I want and however long it takes. Who cares what the cashier thinks?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, I don't like it."

Felix raised the bottle to his lips and took a few gulps of iced tea. "Well, whatever suits you. So, you're not getting a drink?"

"Nah, I'm good for now. I'll just get one at a vending machine later."

"Okay."

*****

The vending machine is, hands down, the best invention in history. There's no doubt about it. It's simply ingenius, and half the people who use vending machines can't even begin to understand how much vending machines have improved our world. They think the main point of a vending machine is the convenience, that you can get a drink at any street corner. That is true, but that's not the genius behind it. Besides, there are now convenience stores at every street corner, even labeled for their convenience. So what is the point of a vending machine?

First and foremost, it can at least take all the change that, honestly, you would probably never use in any other situation. You know, the little annoying coins that you get from buying a pack of gum with an obscure, decimated number at the end of the price, and that never seem to leave the coin pocket of your wallet once you put them in. I could never stand at the cashier counting exact change when there's a throng of people lined up behind me, watching me count each cent and mentally clicking their tongues. And so the change in my wallet accumulates until I eventually have to dump some of it out on my desk when I can't close my wallet anymore because of the humungous bulge of coins. I've even stopped picking up pennies I've dropped.

Next, there's something satisfying about the process of buying a drink from a machine. The "automatic" concept of a vending machine is autonomy on the buyer's part as much as it is the technical machinery that's automatic. From inserting the coins and watching the little red digits add up, hearing the clinking of your coins landing in the massive pool of change inside, to pressing the button and waiting for the clunk of the bottle dropping to the bottom of the machine. And then there's the part where you reach under the flap to take out the drink, and there you have it in your hand. Amazing.

But the real selling point of a vending machine, in my opinion, is the fact that you don't have to interact with anyone. It is privacy at its bestest. You can take as long as you want to pick your drink, change your mind several times, even put in your money and then have it give it back with a press of a button without causing any inconvenience to anyone. There's no stress of potentially having to experience anything more than the act of buying a drink itself. I have a girl friend who frets about putting on at least minimal make-up just to make a trip to the convenience store. I've asked her why, and she had replied, "What if other people see me in the store? And the cashier. Even in the dead of night, a hot guy might be running the cash and I'd never forgive myself if I was caught without make-up then!" I suppose that's one stress-inducing situation, if not the most unnecessary.

Anyway, in essence, interacting with people when I don't need to is a pointless bother. Sure you only have a choice of about 12 types of beverages to choose from compared to the hundreds in a store, but I'm okay with that. I tend to stick with the same old stuff anyway. Don't most people?

I suppose that's why Felix and I still hang out. You can apply the same concept to friends. You tend to stick with the same old crowd if you can; even if you have the opportunity to meet new people, it takes an incredible amount of effort just to put yourself out there and to get to know completely new personalities you have never encountered before. You don't even know if you'll like them after interacting with them. What if you don't? That was a lot of energy expended and wasted.

Nah, I'll just stick with the same old.

*****

I remember one time in high school, the school cafeteria was helping one of the student clubs with a fundraiser by selling milkshakes only for a day. It was the International Development Awareness club and they were fundraising to send money to the WFTO by selling milkshakes made from fair trade chocolate… or something like that.

It was a warm day in June just before the summer break, and because they had been advertising the milkshakes the entire week before, everyone was determined to try one by the day they were selling them. I remember my class was all riled up to get one, and had already begun to line up at the door five minutes before lunch time started, ready to dash out the door the moment the bell rang. Our biology teacher was so fazed by this that, eventually, he didn't even bother telling everyone to stay in their seats anymore.

This was apparently the case in every other class in our school. I guess word spreads fast in high school, so a lot more students rushed to the cafeteria at lunch that day than what the club had anticipated. After all, there's no way you wouldn't get a milkshake if all your friends were getting one--what would you do otherwise, eat lunch by yourself while everyone lines up at the cafeteria?

That's exactly what I did, though. Well, with another buddy of mine. While everyone made the stampede to the cafeteria, I had slowly packed my books back in my bag and casually strolled to the vending machine that was, fortunately, located on the other side of the school. I got my usual bag of chips and juice box, and my friend did that same. That was when I was hooked onto Vita soy milk, the chocolate flavoured one, and I had it everyday. We went back to the classroom to eat our packed lunches, and I remember the classroom being unusually quiet that day, for once. By the time the both of us were done eating and lazily sipping on our juice boxes, leaning back on a chair with our feet up on our desks, our classmates began storming back into the classroom, evidently upset. Apparently the cafeteria had sold out of the milkshakes after the first hundred students, and because there were so many students crowding around the cafeteria which caused a whole lot of confusion, most students ended up wasting the majority of their lunch time standing around and then finding out that there were no more milkshakes to buy.

I was told that the milkshakes weren't even that great.

*****

"I'm done for today, man. You wanna call it a night?" Felix asked me, liting his t-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. He dropped down to a crouch, then leaned back and stretched out on the ground. Even at night the temperature remained the same as during the day, and we were both sweating from a few hours of shooting hoops at the basketball court near where I lived.

"Yeah, sounds good. Good game." I gave the basketball a last spin on my finger before dropping it, letting it bounce and roll across the court away from me. I walked towards where our bags were strewn at the side. Felix remained sprawled on the ground, taking in deep breaths and letting them back out dramatically.

Picking up my backpack, I unzipped it and rummaged inside for my water bottle. "Damn, I forgot to bring my water." I took out my wallet instead, and dumped out the change out before stuffing it in my pocket. "I'm going to get a drink at the vending machine, you want something?"

"Yeah, maybe. Get me a C.C. Lemon."

I extended my hand out.

"What?"

"It's 10 dollars."

"Dude, can't you treat me from time to time?"

"No can do, man. I'm a poor student. Plus I hate having to remember numbers, and it'll be awkward suddenly asking you again for it another day. So it's better you just give it to me now. Less of a bother."

Grumbling under his breath, Felix reached into the pocket of his pants. He slapped a coin into my open palm with a smirk. "Here you go, jerk."

"You're welcome. Be right back."

I ran and hopped over the low railing that surrounded the basketball court and headed towards the nearby park. It was past 10 in the evening and most people had already gone home for the night.

As I walked down a narrow path that connected the basketball court to the park, I could see the endless rows of tiny lights across the street in the distance, windows of the countless apartments in which people were mindlessly watching TV after another long day of work. It's sort of a ritual for anybody living in Hong Kong. Wake up in the morning, hop on a crowded train, stay in air-conditioned spaces for the day, squeeze yourself back onto a train. Maybe buy take-out on the way, and once you get home, turn on the TV and leave it on while you hastily eat your take-out that's already begun to grow cold. Take a shower, go to bed. Repeat.

It's like everyone's decided that that's how life should go. You don't have to think about it, it just ends up that way.

I walked past another lamp post and spotted a vending machine near where two big garbage cans stood at the side of an open space. As I approached it, I saw that the machine was an older model. The newer ones have the actual drinks displayed in a window at eye-level, and there are buttons right below each drink that you can press to choose it. This one only had the logos printed and cheaply stuck behind pieces of hard plastic, yellowing from years of use and the multitude of people's fingers pressing them. But, like I said, it didn't really matter in any case. Most people probably knew what they wanted before coming to this machine anyway. For me, that would be a Pocari Sweat.

I looked over to check that the machine had the drinks I wanted. Fishing into my right pocket, I felt for the 1 or 2 dollar coins that I had been waiting to use up.

I was about to put one into the machine, when I realized there was something sticking out of the slot where I was supposed insert the coin. It was three coins jammed into the slot. Looks like someone was a bit too hasty to get their drink and ended up not getting one at all. Well, lucky for me.

I dug my fingernail in between the two coins on the right and tried to pry one of them out. Luckily, the jagged edge of one of the coins made it a lot easier, and I managed to wedge it out halfway before giving it a final yank. All three coins came flying out and, thanks to my reflexes fresh from a hard round of basketball, I caught them midair just before they hit the ground.

One was a 1 dollar coin, and the other two 2 dollars. I added them to my handful of change, and stepping back up to the machine, I casually inserted one of the 2 dollar coins back into the slot. As I pushed the coin in, however, I felt a kind of resistance on other side. The coin stayed, caught midway, in the slot hole. I tried to push it in with my finger again, but it wouldn't give in. I puzzled over this for a brief moment. The slot hole itself was designed to be rather big, probably to allow the thicker 10 dollar coins to fit. I could understand that it would get stuck if you tried to shove three coins in at once, but as anyone can see, I'm no hasty person. I always put in the coins properly, one after another, making sure to listen for the clink of the coin landing in the coin pile inside the machine.

I took the 2 dollar coin out. I bent over and peered into the slot hole. In most vending machines, a light is located somewhere inside that illuminates the images printed on the plastic exterior of the machine, so usually there's a bit of light peeking out from the coin slot too. This machine was getting old though, and the light was dim, so I couldn't make out much. I sighed, and in one final attempt to unjam the machine, I tried squeezing my pinky into the machine.

The slot was just big enough for me to do so, and I twisted my finger around slightly so it could reach a little further in, and I touched something. I guess there was something else jamming the coin slot after all. I felt around a bit, but the pinky finger isn't the most sensitive body part, and all I could tell was that it was something damp.

I groaned. Most likely, it was a piece of gum someone chewed and, feeling sorry for its existence, decided to give the piece of gum a more purposeful ending to its short life by shoving it into the coin slot of a vending machine instead of the trash bin. Well, purpose noted.

Anyway, by now I was getting rather thirsty, and all I could think of was just that satisfying first gulp of liquid running down my throat. Still with my finger in the slot, I lodged my fingernail into the said piece of gum and slowly wriggled my finger back out, prying the gum back out with it. It was trickier than I thought, because the gum seemed to have hardened a bit--as most chewed and thoroughly salivated gum do a few hours after it's taken out of your mouth--while retaining its dampness. Plus it seemed to be quite a large piece too.

Finally, my finger made it out of the slot and now all I had to do was use two fingers to yank the gum out. For the first time in my life, I actually remembered the hand sanitizer stands located near the park entrance and made a mental note to make use of them later. My finger was feeling sore as I flexed it a bit--and that's when I saw that there was something lodged under my fingernail. I'm the type of person that likes to keep my fingernails clean all the time, probably because fingers are the body parts you look at most often on yourself.

Under the dim light of the vending machine, I inspected my fingernail more closely. At first I thought my finger was just bruised from basketball, or from all the prying, but bruises don't appear that quickly. I would had to have pounded a hammer on my finger without myself noticing for a bruise to form under my nail like that. The bruise-like stain under the tip of my nail looked more in between the state of being slightly congealed and almost dry. And when I tried to scratch at it, flicking some of it off with with my thumbnail, a bit of it came off flakily. The undried parts stuck and stained my thumbnail too. As hard as it was for me to believe, there was no doubt.

I looked back up from my fingernail at the coin slot. Sure enough, from what I could tell under the low lighting and the curiosity that possessed me to step closer to examine, the sticky mass lodged in the slot was not a piece of gum at all. It was a finger, or at least part of it. It was hard to tell exactly how much of the finger there was, or whether it had belonged to a man or a woman, since most of the finger was still stuck inside the machine. The only part I could see was the tip of the shriveling end where it was dismembered, and the not quite dried, uneven congealment of carmine over it.

I paused. Then slowly, taking the 2 dollar coin I had pulled out before, I nudged it back into the coin slot, pushing the dismembered finger further back into the machine. Using the coins that were still in my other hand, I put two more of them into the slot. Of course, none of the coins fully made it into the machine because the finger was there, but I slotted them in one by one until the coins jammed the slot perfectly again, like a wall of metal.

I turned around to see if anybody had seen, but I was the only one in the park, standing alone under the flickering lamp posts overhead.

I heaved a sigh. Dumping the rest of the change back into the pocket of my pants, I thought about how it was a shame that I couldn't keep the coins I had found after all. That's how money is, I guess. It passes through so many hands in a day, and just when you think you've got your hands on some, it slips through your fingers and to someone else somewhere out there again. Oh well, It wasn't mine to begin with, anyway. I shouldn't be too bothered about it.

I began walking back down the path I came from. I'll have to tell Felix they were out of C.C. Lemon or something, and then maybe we could grab our drinks from another machine on the way back home. I remembered there being one near the train station.