If you're staring at someone who does something weird, are you the creep, or are they? I hashed over this thought as I watched a robust guy freeze in his tracks, mouth agape, in front of a vending machine. It had been a Snickers that caught his eye. The ""Satisfies"" label had thoroughly convinced him of his impending fulfillment.
I had been wasting time in the lobby of the psychology building, when I saw this. Being the oddball I am, I decided it'd be fun to watch what people got from the machines and maybe make some unfair judgments about them while I was at it.
The rotund guy took one bite, marveled at the stringy caramel and bought another. This was going to be entertaining.
After Snickers Boy came a cute girl from my psych class. Thankfully, I didn't hit on her because a minute later, I watched as a bag of Gardetto's dropped down. Tasty? Yes, but oh Lord what they do to one's breath. A single kiss from her would have the garlicky punch of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Just as Bad-Breath Girl walked out of my life, my head snapped around to see the ruckus to my left. A short guy dressed like Ali G was desperately trying to attract the attention of the entire building. Then the obnoxious dink inserted his coins and happily opened his bag of animal crackers. How ironic that this childish idiot enjoys snacking on the epitome of infant edibles. They're tasty, but you're in college—at least move up to the frosted version.
I put aside my scorn and turned my attention to the beverage machine where my psych TA was purchasing a bottle of 100 percent cranberry juice. At first I was impressed by her health-conscious selection. But then I recalled her slow speech and spacey demeanor, and I saw the truth: The juice would soon be united with Absolut.
The next day I found myself in front of the vending machines outside the weight room at the SERF. Baffled, I tried to reason why junk food would be found in the depths of a gym. Eat it before a workout and you puke. Eat it after, and you've just defeated the purpose of your sweat session.
My angry confusion was disrupted by a hulking meathead looking for a pre-lift quaff. Finding no protein shakes, he selected a bottle of Lizard Lava SoBe—yes, the pink stuff. He then took the drink into the weight room where all dignity was lost.
Shortly after, a much smaller guy emerged from the weight room and stopped in front of the beverage machine. Now this guy had half the muscle mass as Pinky before him but quickly proved he had twice the brains. He opted for the chocolate milk, which research has shown is an ideal post-workout choice.
The next night I was studying at College Library when I remembered the strip mall of vending machines on the first floor—a prime spot for creepy food watching. It was 11 p.m., but you'd never know by the amount of PopTarts being consumed. If you're buying PopTarts from a vending machine, you really need to start planning better. As each person laid down $1.50 for their Tarts, all I could think about were the lonely boxes of PopTarts that surely sat in their pantries at home, all 12 costing that same $1.50.
When I saw a girl buy a Frappuccino, I nearly fell in love—this was a smart girl. Sure, you could get a ""fresh"" version from the cafAc, but then you miss out on that exciting ""pop"" as you open the cap, and do those workers behind the counter really know what the hell they're doing?
By Friday, I was in front of Bascom Hall's vending machines, irate over the M&M selection. Freaking dark chocolate but no peanut butter? What are you thinking Wiley?
Just as I was about to storm to the dean's office, a girl came in and bought a bag of salted peanuts. Now an expert on machine cuisine, I had to ask why such a bland item was chosen. ""I dunno,"" she said, looking rightly terrified by my interest. I explained, ""I mean, if you want peanuts, why not get peanut M&Ms? Or at least honey roasted?"" She hurried away from me like I was Scanner Dan.
Realizing that what had started out as a way to kill some time had turned me into a quasi-peeping tom, I slowly sulked to class. But as I walked back into the psych building, I watched with delight as Bad-Breath Girl retrieved a pack of wintergreen mints from the machine. This has renewed my positive outlook on life—life balances out even in the world of vending machine munching.
