They are putting in a new vending machine at the office.
I saw it today, not too far from my desk. It will be refrigerated and soon it will be filled with all kinds of goodies – goodies that aren't in any of the other vending machines at the office.
I am told there will be sandwiches – both cold sandwiches and the kinds of sandwiches you can heat up in the microwave – as well as milk, juice and relatively fresh fruit.
All of those things will be put into the vending machine soon. None of them are in there right now, but right now, the vending machine isn't exactly empty.
Right now the vending machine is full – full of hope. Full of wonder. Full of exciting little questions.
Will this new vending machine really be special? Or will it betray my trust, like all the other vending machines at the office?
Will it rip my dollar bill in half?
Will it keep all my quarters and not give me any food or drink? Will it sit there smugly and not say a word after I give it my entire week’s chow budget in change?
Will it break my heart into a million pieces like a ball peen hammer on a stained glass window?
Will it hydrate its cold, dark soul with my warm, salty tears?
Will this new vending machine cause me months of lower back pain when I attempt to shake the living shit out of it because the Raspberry Danish I pay two bucks for almost falls out of its slot but instead just hangs there, halfway out, like a sugar-glazed bat in the corner of a cave?
At some point in time, will I have to find a Sharpie and a piece of paper so I can write a little note that says "Owes James $3.75" and tape it to the new vending machine?
It will hang there for about a week, and every one of my co-workers will read it and know that James was the one dumbass among them who was stupid enough to keep sticking his money into that sunuvabitch even though no refreshments were coming out.
Some will stop by my desk and say something like, “Have a problem with the vending machine?” and they won’t realize that every time someone at work says something like that to me, a little part of me dies inside.
No, this vending machine won’t be like all the others. This vending machine will accept me for who I am, treat me like a human being, and keep all of its promises.
This vending machine will reward my trust with chilled beverages and tasty snacks.
This vending machine will love me. And I will love it.
And maybe it will even have slices of lemon pie.
I like lemon pie.