I glanced down at the clock on my computer and realized that my train was leaving in exactly seven minutes. I glanced up at the unread emails that had piled up in my inbox while I was in meetings all day long.
Even if I run, there’s no way I’ll make it. Damn.
I had reached the point in the evening when my train only runs every hour, so I knew I was stuck in the office for a while. Stomach growling, I grabbed some change from my desk drawer and headed over to the kitchen in search of some vending treats.
The first thing that caught my eye was a tasty Twix, my candy bar of choice, but I decided I should get something slightly healthier. My attention was drawn toward the bright packaging of the “30% Less Fat!” Harvest Cheddar Multigrain Sun Chips I always saw the athletic set eating, so I dropped in my $0.65, fully expecting what happened next. The coils spun slowly, my chips nearing the ledge, only to stop short of dropping. I was unfazed since this happens 7 out of 10 times in this machine, but annoyed because I had to walk back to my desk to get another $0.65.
After sliding another few coins into the slot, the second bag started to push out the first one, according to plan, but suddenly stopped short of full release.
Oh, come on!
Usually a good hip check will free a precariously positioned snack, but a few slams later, nothing had budged. I listened for a second to make sure everyone had left the office, then grabbed the top of the machine and tried to rattle it like I’d seen a couple of burly coworkers do before. The machine shifted slightly, but not enough to free my $1.30 dinner from its grasp.
Just as I was about to pull harder, I had a flash of the night janitor finding my body pinned underneath the vending machine, toes slightly curled like that unfortunate easterly witch. Could there be anything more humiliating than to be found crushed under a vending machine at work, all because I couldn’t live without that $0.65 bag of chips? I think not. Except perhaps being found naked and crushed under a vending machine at work, but my company has strict dress code policies, so that scenario was highly unlikely.
I paused for a minute with my head against the plastic of the vending machine. It was slightly warm from the bright lights that had beckoned me near, and as I tapped my head lightly, I contemplated my options.
I should just walk away. I’m not even that hungry anymore. NO! That’s what it wants you to think!
Now this was a game. A game of strategy and patience. Man versus machine. Who could hold out longer? I had a whole wallet full of singles and another 45 minutes before I had to leave for my train. I went back to my desk and grabbed five crisp $1 bills.
As I fed the next dollar into the machine, I suddenly understood why those little women sit in front of the same slot machines in the casinos, hour after hour, no matter how much money they lose.
It’s bound to hit sooner or later. I feel it. It’s time. My time.
I slowly punched in 124 on the keypad, careful not to slip and accidentally buy those rainbow Twizzlers in 126. The metal coil spun steadily and the chips inched further and further toward the edge, but then instead of dropping down, they began to fan upwards, pinned against the shelf above.
Oh you have got to be kidding me! What the hell – are they sewn together!? Bitch, I am not walking away with three bags of chips hanging there!
Another uneventful hip check, one paced lap around the kitchen with my hands on my head to gain my composure, and I was pulling out another dollar to feed my nemesis. I would have paid $20 for those chips at that point, because it had become a matter of principle. Fortunately, I didn’t have to test my mettle because with the fourth dollar, all four bags of Sun Chips exploded against the plastic and slid down to the slot below.
I scooped up the bags of chips in my arms, again praying that no late night colleagues would see me walking through the hall with a bushel of snacks, and returned to my desk.
Now I don’t need to buy snacks all week. Yeah, sucker. Who did you think you were dealing with?
I tossed the three spare bags of chips in my file drawer and ripped open the original one. I admired the unique waffle shape for a second, then popped an entire chip into my now salivating mouth.
Oh. Oh god. These taste like… shit!
I thought that maybe I had just gotten a bad chip, like when you bite into a burnt peanut M&M, so I gave it another shot. But the second tasted even worse than the first, its garlicky gritty debris building up in my molars and under my tongue. I quickly took a swig of water and swished it around to remove all remnants of this $2.60 disaster.
I guess I should have known by the name alone that they would be bad. Harvest Cheddar? I mean, I’m from Wisconsin. We don’t harvest cheese. What does that even mean? Cheese doesn’t grow in fields. It ferments in caves, or… something like that.
Harvest Cheddar. If by Harvest, they meant Pile of, and if by Cheddar, they meant Crap, then yes, this was definitely Harvest Cheddar. I would even go so far as to say that this tasted like a Huge Steaming Harvest Cheddar.
And I was now the proud owner of four bags of it.
I threw the open bag of Sun Chips in my trash and went back to scanning my emails. Eventually I glanced down at the clock on my computer and realized it was time to catch my train. As I cut through the kitchen on my way out, I tossed the three remaining bags of Harvest Cheddar Multigrain Sun Chips on the table.
This time I had lost, but luckily for me, what happens in the kitchen stays in the kitchen.

Filed under: General on April 3rd, 2007