The Rembis Report and Other Fascinating Topics - Volume LXV

It was bound to happen.

I mean, it has happened before, and I knew it would happen again, and of course, I knew it would happen to me, eventually, if I kept dropping coins into the machine. I was bound to lose.

But the chips were there, on the other side of the glass, and the only way to get them out of the vending machine was to put the money in and push the right combination of buttons for what I wanted.

Simple enough.

So, I did. I made a solid decision. One I would have to live with and not be able to back out of. Soon, the Funyuns would be mine.

But on this day, the one day when I had scraped the last dollar-twenty-five in change from my desk drawer, my best laid plan for a snack had gone awry. With the final button pushed, the corkscrew gear holding the bag wound back to release it, but the top of the bag snagged on the bottom of the shelf above.

And there it stayed. My bag of Funyuns. Taunting me.

Drastic measures were immediately undertaken. I rocked the machine, bouncing against it with the full force of my weight. Nothing. The Funyuns refused to fall. A co-worker happened into the break room and seeing my dilemma, tried to help by bringing in some muscle of her own. Nothing. No matter how much we bounced against the machine, shook it, cursed it - nothing.

So, there the Funyuns stayed. No crispy delight for me that day. Oh, well, nothing to be done about it then. Leave word at the front desk, I suppose.

But I let it go. I put it out of my mind. It was Friday. Time for a weekend break. House chores, maybe a trip to the beach, some shopping. I forgot all about the vending machine.

Until lunch on Monday. They were still there. The Funyuns had survived the weekend, unmoved by any chip bags that may have fallen around it. I had another chance.

Maybe just put in another $1.25 and get a second bag, Mike?

NO! That would be admitting defeat. I'm not a quitter, and I don't like getting ripped off. No sir. I just want the bag I paid for. Not a second bag. If it got caught, too, I would be doubly screwed. That was not happening.

So, I pounded the side of the machine, unplugged it and plugged it back in again, kicked it. Nothing. The Funyuns would not fall.

It was as if I were living within a nightmare penned by Edgar Allan Poe.

Lament for my Funyuns

Twas a day typical of any other when I arrived at our dining hall. Nothing amiss, no foreboding dread to warn me of lurking danger ahead. I had no cause to doubt the vending machine. It was reliable and good natured. I generally opted for Doritos. But this day, a most peculiar snack presented itself. There, in the middle of the center shelf, a treat that I had not tasted in years made itself available. Funyuns. Onion flavored fun in a bag. All for the same price I would pay for my beloved Doritos. Do I dare? Shall I shirk convention and delight in a flavor from the past? Indubitably, I happily agreed with myself like Goofy Gophers forming a decision. Indeed, let's get wild. In that most eager of anticipations, I waited for my chips, but alas, it was not to be, not on this day.

No, not that Friday. Not on Monday either. I was defeated. No Funyuns for me. So, it was time to take the next step. To contact the vendor, I visited the sweet lady who works at our front desk.

The good woman listened intently to my tale of woe. Her kind and goodhearted demeanor brought forth most empathy for my predicament. She offered me change from her purse, but I would not accept. "No," I told her, "I merely beg you to carry a message forth to the purveyor of goods. Please relate to him or her that I do not wish a refund but would prefer the Funyuns." She asked me every detail of the transaction, including the day and time of the incident, and transcribed my message to the vending machine owner. The kind lady would do anything to make me stop talking. I bid dear LaVerne a good day and went on my way, back to work.

Then, I forgot all about the chips again. I didn't go back to the break room until Thursday. The Funyuns were gone. Not just the errant bag I paid for, but all of them. There were no Doritos, either. The shelves were practically empty. Did a pack of wild baboons with handfuls of change clean us out? Apparently so.

Nothing in the machine I wanted to buy, but there was a note taped to the front, waiting for the vendor.

HA!

That's right. I don't have the Funyuns yet, but just you wait.

TO BE CONTINUED

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Take care. May your chips fall as you wish.