The Disrespect of the Modern Vending Machine
I still get a stomachache thinking about that dumb Fruitopia drink.
Vending machines are so condescending.
There’s something humiliating about that four seconds waiting for my food. I’m powerless. The machine is always taking it’s time, threatening to shut down at the hint of a side eye or request to rush. Much like a TSA agent, if I show any sign of stress, she’ll halt everything to pull me aside and extend the process, leaving a bag of chips dangling on a hook.
I remember loving vending machines when I was a kid. At my dad’s work there was a soda machine, and I loved hitting the buttons and seeing something arrive. My mom’s office had a super cool one where for 25 cents (!!!) you got water mixed with Coca-Cola syrup in a Styrofoam cup. It tasted like trash – they probably never cleaned the thing - but the experience was fun. So, in went my quarters.
My point of view changed in high school, where we had vending machines in the cafeteria. (Is this still a thing?) These were the years when Big Cola transitioned away from selling Sprite or Diet Coke in (public) schools because of obvious reasons. (First comment on this post: WE USED TO BE A REAL COUNTRY!!!!) Instead, Big Cola used the real estate to sell neon purple crap or some other nonsense with names like “Fruitopia”, “Citrus Sizzle”, or “Aquafina”. Whatever came out of the machine, the rumble of the falling bottle was advertised in front of the whole school — in other words, everyone important you knew.
(NOTE: I JUST LOOKED UP FRUITOPIA TO FIND THAT PHOTO AND APPARENTLY KATE BUSH DID THE MUSIC FOR ALL THE COMMERCIALS???!!! I need to lie down. And draft an entire thing about that. Omg. Kate. Kate!)
Whew. Anyway.
Vending machines have of course advanced in the past 20 years, but the power they hold is still there. They even have food now! When I worked for Victoria’s Secret they had a vending machine in the office that had canned tuna in it. I would get it every afternoon for a snack because 1) it was delicious 2) inventory was high because no one else was ordering it and 3) everybody hated that I ordered it which made me love it even more.
I would feed dollars into this machine next to a giant billboard of a woman whose breasts were spilling out of a blue bra. I stared at that giant poster, the model’s eyes barreling down on me and the vending machine, as I sat there waiting for the tuna to spill out of its cage and into the trap door for my dry white hands to get in there and wrap my caked, ashy knuckles around the can and scuttle back to my desk and answer emails about Panty Parties (a thing).
Vending machines are also smart now. Smarter than they should be. I recently went to a vending machine in my current office and the thing talked to me. When I swiped my card, the screen said “HELLO TIGHE.” And then she (???) said it out loud. Even more unsettling, she pronounced my name correctly. When I took a snack, she said “I SEE YOU SELECTED THE HUMMUS,” shouting it to anyone who would listen, much like a mother. The machine asked me for feedback (???), and when I hit the smiley face, I heard “THANK YOU” as I ran out of the breakroom and back to my office to eat my carrot cake hummus in peace.
Next time I’ll just go to CVS.