Vending Machines That Won’t Work
I’ve been considering measures to take against vending machines that refuse to work.
I haven’t any concrete numbers, but I would guess that in the 30 or so years I’ve been feeding money into these callous contraptions, they actually have worked only about 50 percent of the time.
A few times when they don’t work, the machine doesn’t deliver the object I have selected, but it does return my money. I can deal with this.
What happens mostly, however, is the machine not only doesn’t give me my soft drink or candy or bag of peanuts, it also refuses to return my money.
I cannot deal with this. My eyes bulge out, my hands begin to shake, and I want to kill the machine.
To this point, I never have taken any drastic measures, however, because of my fear of the men in the white coats with their butterfly nets.
Another source of my frustration when it comes to vending machines is this: There never seems to be anybody around to scream at when a stupid machine has just ripped you off.
You would think, since the machine is in a hotel or a restaurant, you could go to some sort of assistant manager and say, in a loud voice so others could hear you, “Your blankety-blank machine has robbed me of my money!”
The problem is that when a vending machine refuses to work, it is impossible to find anybody who will take responsibility for it.
“We just lease the space to the vending company,” I have been told.
“You’ll have to talk to Mr. Wallakowski about that and he’s on vacation in Wyoming and will not be back until 1988,” is another cop-out.
It would be easier getting your money back from a television evangelist.
I decided, however, it is possible to get something back that is better than your money – revenge. Here is how I have planned to get back at the next vendin g machine that robs me:
1. I am going to kick the machine. I don’t mean a gentle kick. I mean, I’m going to rear back and kick the machine until there are large dents in it. I am going to kick it until it is in a terrible state of disrepair and then I am going to spit on it and call it ugly names.
2. After that, I am going to get violent. I am going to my car and get my lug wrench, and I am going to beat the machine some more. I want glass to fly. I want things inside the machine to make awful crunching sounds. I want nuts and bolts and screws to roll around on the floor. I want nearby dogs to whimper and small children to cry.
3. Then, I’m going to get really mad. I’m going to set the thing on fire. I am going to take off my clothes and dance naked around the smoldering machine, throwing my hands wildly into the air while giving out primal screams.
And after a few days of quiet rest in my padded cell, I will emerge a new man.