I once met a colleague who later became a good friend. He is a few years older and a skillful soccer player. When he first came to the States, his sole hobby was to watch NBA games on TV. He enjoyed it so much that he not only grasped all the basketball jargons, but also drastically improved his English listening comprehension. Then Jordan announced his retirement. Being an avid Jordan fan, he slid into depression which nearly destroyed him. Luckily, he was young and resilient. He said he was like a drug addict experiencing the excruciating withdrawal symptoms. We met regularly for lunch. In his lunch box, besides the Asian-style lunch his wife packed for him, there was always one can of coke. He told me that he could not understand the way American spends money. Take the vending machine for example, who, in their right mind, should buy those pricy drinks? Gradually he came to term with it, but he was genuinely surprised when he first saw polite janitors buying drinks everyday from the vending machine nearby his office.
Occasionally I spot people replenishing their drink stocks in the refrigerator, presumbly as a way to avoid daily trip to the vending machine and of course the rip-off that goes along. But more often, I see the continuous traffic near the machine. A middle-aged coworker saves every can and uses them to decorate his cubicle. Whatever a masterpiece he had in his mind was shattered by the recent 5.8 magnitude earthquake. He just started all over and did not seem to be too upset about it. Another tall and slim lady coworker wears skirt everyday regardless the season or weather. Everyone can recognize the tapping sound from her high heels, which is neither too loud nor too fast but rather soothingly rhythmic. We often come across in the bridge leading to the next building and the nearest vendor. With a diet coke in her hand, she always greets me with a fleeting smile, which I at first interpreted as some sort of complicity, but now no more than an innocuous muscle reflex.
My friend’s craving for classic coke was all year round. But mine is seasonal. One summer, I carried a whole pack of coke and placed it in my office. I could reach it just by turning my chair. The convenience eerily dialed down my thirst. The 12-can pack lasted the whole summer. From then on, I decided to let the vending machine take care of my summer craving. During either an unbearably boring afternoon or a crazily busy working day, I wait for the mysterious desire to spark and to push me leaving my desk. Simply by holding a flattened dollar bill or a few quarters, I can switch course and be charged with a new mission only requiring a laser-like focus. Starting from the dropping sound of a chilled can, a sequential sensual experience ensues. However, the expected course would go awry as the drinks were swapped as the result of sloppy loading. Or worst yet, shocked by an out-of-stock sign for your desired flavor in one vendor after another, the otherwise pleasure excursion turned into a desperate odyssey.
We know that kids and vending machine are happy to see each other. And I savor every possible opportunity to ruin their bonding. This double standard does not seem to bother me at all. Learning how to become money-smart is one thing. Too much good thing too soon & too easy spells trouble for your kids. As for adults, however, the happiness we have long pursued and still pursuing, of course, should not preclude those petty instant satisfaction.
