Yep, you read that right.
It’s time for Fridays’ dose of words.
But yes. Life’s a vending machine. A big, soulless, fluorescent lit vending machine. You stand there, squinting at the choices. Rows of chips, candy bars, weird protein snacks that taste like drywall…
…waiting for something, anything, to happen.
You’ve got a crumpled dollar in your hand. Maybe some spare change rattling around in your pocket. You feed it into the machine, punch a button, and cross your fingers.
Sometimes, you get the Snickers. Jackpot. Sweet, sticky, nougat-y bliss.
But most of the time? The machine eats your dollar. Or worse. It spits out the wrong snack. A bag of stale pretzels instead of Cheetos.
I’m not gonna get the universe involved but sometimes you just think to yourself that it’s trying to piss you off.
Then you look at society and how everything is degrading.
Dating apps? Vending machine.
Job applications? Vending machine.
Social media algorithms? Oh boy, that’s the king of vending machines.
You keep chucking in your time, energy, and sanity, hoping for a pay out that feels more like a win than a loss.
And yeah, sometimes you get lucky. Sometimes the machine gives you exactly what you asked for. But most of the time, you’re left staring at the blinking “error” message, wondering why the hell you even bothered.
It’s probably time turn around, head back home and pop open the whiskey. You don’t need to play that game.
Stop standing there, waiting for the machine to spit out something worth having.
Stop hoping sky daddy above picks you, blesses you, anoints you as the Chosen One.
Screw that noise. Be your own vending machine. Fill yourself with the good stuff. Stock your shelves. Decide what’s on the menu.
You don’t need to play games where you’re waiting for someone else to choose you.
You’re the one who gets to choose and what if the vending machine doesn’t play ball? You kick the shit out of it.
On that note. I’m having a fancy beer and am going to get cracking on this post apocalyptic treat.
Stephen Walker