It had us thinking about the “zen of vending machines,” so we pulled out an advice column from a past blog of ours as a type of vending machine therapy.
Doc Callahan, retired professor, part-time farmer, and full-time pontificator, has occasionally added his advice column expertise to our blog. Doc’s viewpoints are not necessarily those held by CAST—or, frankly, anyone else.
Out of Order
I’ve had
several love-hate relationships with vending machines, and sure enough, other
people seem to have parallel experiences.
Dear Doc,
The school board voted to take Cheetos, Pop Tarts, and candy bars out of
our school cafeteria vending machine. I’m an active 14-year old. Carrot sticks
and raisins won’t get me through Mrs. Kerfawful’s afternoon writing class. Sugar-starved in St. Louis
Dear Sugar-starved,
You kids are caught in another adult battle, and you’ll hear words like
“healthful, choice, and obesity.” I’m not much for mandates, but in the future,
you might be glad you missed the diabetes train because someone vetoed the junk
food. In my day, we had other means of staying awake during classes—spit wads,
rubber bands, and rude noises. Ask your school to install a vending machine
that sells those. Doc
Dear Doc,
Maybe I’ve been watching too much science fiction, but I swear the
vending machine at work has human traits. If my dollar bill has the slightest
wrinkle, the machine spits it back out and seems to make a mechanical jeering
sound. When I’m desperate for a savory snack, the machine makes sure the bag of
peanuts gets stuck in a spot just out of reach. And the Dr Pepper “sold out”
light is never on even when that choice is all gone. I’m forced to drink
Mountain Dew! Do you think the machine is picking on me? Paranoid
in Peoria
Dear Paranoid,
I’ve lost numerous battles with vending machines, so I know what you
mean. I worked in Japan—the vending machine paradise—and the drink machines
were like cyber sirens. “Irasshiamasu,” it would say to welcome me in a female,
robotic voice. Then the paper cup would drop into the slot on its side and the
Fanta Orange would dribble off into the drain. But the machine would stay
positive as it thanked me, “Arigato Gozaimashita.” You could get just about
anything but handguns in Japanese vending machines—whiskey, potted plants,
dress shirts. But that was years ago. With smartphones and apps, you won’t be
outwitted by vending machines anymore. You’ll be ignored. Your iPhone will have
a meaningful conversation with a sandwich machine. Your phone already knows
what you want for lunch. Doc
Dear Doc,
The National Alliance for Nutrition and Activity (NANA) set standards for
food and beverages in vending machines. My boss has gone gung ho about these
recommendations, and now I’m suffering at the office. The vending machine in
our lounge has granola, juice, and something called Organic Berfunkle. By 10:00
a.m. I start getting Twinkies tremors, and in the afternoon a lack of high
fructose makes me feel low and lethargic. This NANA word seems more like
“nanny” to me. Any ideas? Hungry for Freedom in Philly
Dear Hungry,
Many agree with you that we should be able to choose snacks without Big
Brother watching. Others think junk food pushers have used ads and sugar
addiction to make us all think we have choice when it’s actually a selection
among health problems. At my age, my “sweet tooths” have
fallen out, so I no longer think lemon drops, jelly beans, and candied orange
slices provide three of the basic food groups. I even eat broccoli, kale, and
tofu now—by choice. But I still like having options, so I advise that you try
some of the healthy stuff—and then smuggle in jelly-filled donuts as needed.
Just remember to wipe the powdered sugar and raspberry filling off your
keyboard before your job evaluation session. Doc
by dan gogerty (top pic from npr.org and bottom one from colleghumor.com)
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