Soda Machines

If there were one small thing I could do for America, it would be to fix vending machines. I have discovered that fewer and fewer soda machines offer twelve oz. cans, opting for the twenty oz. bottles. I will stand before the lit, red machine, as glass bottle of Coke portrayed on the front (those are 10 ouncers, by the way). This is misleading, though, because not only does the machine not offer normal sized drinks, it demands a dollar for this inconvenience. The twelve oz. can of soda is a thing of genius. It fits well in the hand, crunches well when I want to toss it into the recycling bin, and doesn't make me feel sick. The twenty oz. soda is evil, however. The soda clunks to the bottom, thoroughly pressurized and shooken up. I open it slowly to avoid a re-enactment of the vinegar and baking soda volcano "science experiment" of second grade. I take a good chug and drink away. Even when I pace myself, however, there is always exactly eight oz. of soda left at the bottom. But I end up drinking the rest, anyway, because I paid for it, and dollars don't grow on trees.

I would reintroduce twelve oz. cans both for the sake of my wallet, my sanity, and my stomach. No one really needs twenty oz. of soda in one sitting. However, I understand that some people are unable to admit this, so I am not against having 20 oz. machines, too. I just want the option of the can. Imagine the glory of it. You walk into an area full of vending machines. You glance around, spotting only 20 oz. sodas, water, and twelve equally unappealing flavors of Fruitopia. You are devastated until you see it, the saving grace! There, in the corner, with the glass Coke bottle on a background of red, sits the lone showing of democracy in drinks. You rejoice and whip out your 50 cents, and feel like a true American, embracing diversity. Vending machines are sizeist, and this must be stopped!

I've also noticed that the cans, back before the soda companies recalled the machines and began their reign of evil, did not often get stuck in machines. The bottles, however, have a decided tendency to get stuck in the machine the one time when you could really put back an entire 20 ouncer. Thus, I have become one of the androgynous, angular people shaking the vending machine on the warning sticker. I throw my body against the machine, willing it to give me my soda. There is a satisfying thunk each time I hit the machine. I am now a master, the true master knows that one does not come at the machine from the front. No, no! The trick is to put your back to the side of the machine, and then thrust your butt at it. The machine will shake, but if you put the right amount of force into it, will not topple and hit another machine or fall on the unsuspecting bystander who didn't see the warning sticker about standing near people who are stupid enough to ignore the first warning sticker. The soda drops to the bottom, and I pull it out, triumphant, as awed viewers clap. As nice as it is to have picked up this skill, however, I would much prefer to never have to use it. Yet another compelling reason for the long-awaited return of 12 oz. cans: my butt is only so powerful.