Human Vending Machine Thanks Customers

Rebecca Flinn

I’m not sure about most people, but I always have had the fear of technology gaining intelligence, joining together and rising against us. After coming back for two weeks of the flu, a vending machine alleging to be “human” staked and claimed its territory like a male cat spraying a tree. Four people were lined up, paying for its services, and nothing else. Gracing us with its presence is what it wasn’t doing. I then joined the four victims in line. Once I got up to meeting H.A.L.’s cousin, I placed in my dollar and clicked the numbers on the pad. It made angry beeping noises as if it hated the fleshy, warm-bodied humans when the screen read not enough credits. Not enough credits? Isn’t a dollar for juice enough? cost $2.50. I pushed in the coin return button and received my Sacagaweas, and stormed away from the machine. At this point, if you’re wondering what I think the difference between h.u.m.a.n and regular vending machines is the claim to be one of us. Regular ones would act as a black cubic bully and steal your lunch money or let your chips lean against the glass, teetering on the edge of forever, making you kick the machine in efforts to end its taut.

The next day I approached the menace and paused. “Wait, what am I doing? Why am I feeding on to this?” I continue to see people in line slowly becoming slaves to the machine and paying. I even noticed a ‘Media Mogul” popped up in the athletic hallway.

There had to be more of them, there has to be. I decided to Google “h.u.m.a.n vending machines” and went on the company’s website. It didn’t surprise me that there was an entire family of them, all being called “Human”. The “Hot Human,” The “Rugged Human,” The “Arctic Human,” The “Media Mogul,” and The Joe “Human” that serves coffee.

The Human we have in possession is The “Media Mogul.” Whatever a “Mogul” is, it’s probably code for something terrible.

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