Vending Machine Anxiety

I visited the vending machine this past Friday, part of my new health kick where I bring my lunch to work everyday.... riiight. Anyways, I stood in front of the machine trying to decide which of the goodies I was going to choose, and wondering as I often did, why on earth the glass was so damn thick. I felt like I was in the Tower of London looking at the Crown Jewels. The only difference was that I couldn't expect to get a billion dollar necklace by depositing some change into a coin slot. Let's be realistic here. Bags of chips, Grandmother's cookies and some Wrigley's gum... Bulletproof glass? A little over the top.

At any rate, finally after a few minutes, I make my decision, which is the same decision I make every time I go to a vending machine, Cheetos. I deposit my 80 cents and carefully punch in the letter number sequence.

I say carefully because there was an incident about a year or so ago, in which there was a letter-number combo slip-up and I ended up with a package of those stale cracker sandwich things that no one in their right mind would ever voluntarily choose. With only 5 cents remaining, I had no choice but to go hungry. I vowed from that point onwards I would never find myself in that predicament ever again. The one thing I have no control over however, is what happens after I make my selection.

Am I the only one who stands there staring hard at those metal coily things willing them to relinquish from its death grip, my meal in a bag? I do. I stare. I stare hard. Anxiety builds up as I think about the havoc I plan to wreak on this demon machine if it doesn't give me my f&%king Cheetos. And anxious I remain until that final moment when I see my Cheetos drop, like a gift from the heavens.

Then just like that, I feel relaxed, elated, giddy even. It is a glorious feeling indeed, like you just dodged a bullet. I reach down, contort my hand awkwardly and retrieve my reward.

As wonderful as this victory is, I think next week I'll definitely be bringing my lunch.

The Waiting Game

So why is it that whenever you're waiting for a friend in a public place, everyone starts to look like that person. Suddenly you feel like you're trapped in a Twilight Zone episode where everyone's wearing different clothes, but the faces are all the same.

And we all know what our friends look like. Its not like on a daily basis, as we go about our normal life's activities, we're constantly stopping ourselves from mistakenly calling out to strangers in the street. And yet, as we sit and wait, our insecurites get the better of us. Our minds begin to play tricks on us.

We sit, slowly sipping our coffees or teas, not too fast though, because if we finish then we'll have nothing to do whilst we wait... This is when we start to think, "Why didn't I bring something to read?" So inevitably what do we do? We snatch up a menu, and we read that menu like its the most fascinating piece of literature we've ever come across. "Coffee beans picked in South American and roasted in Turkey... I'll be damned."

Five minutes late. She's FIVE minutes late. That's it, next time I'm going to arrive late. She can wait for me and drink tea and exchange awkward smiles with the people sitting at the table directly across from her, who are for some reason are both positioned so that they are facing me instead of eachother... Are social norms dead?

Then, just as I'm contemplating getting up and leaving, I look up through the crowd and see my friend... Finally!

Wait... Why is she a man?

Damnit.