Three Nickles

By David Shute

I spent the better part of a year working within one of the many buildings that are owned by the company I grind out my day job at. I also drink a lot of pop. The vending machines are subsidized and drinks are a paltry 60 cents a can. Buying several cans a day I came to expect some of a specific machine’s behaviours.

The first is that I knew certain nickles would be rejected by the machine. It was a picky machine. It would consistently reject the same coins that other machines would happily accept. I compensated by carrying extra change with me when I was headed for a drink and by holding on to all the change that it provided. I would spend all my $1 and $2 coins first, moving on afterward to the quarters before using smaller change. I always tried to ensure I had the maximum amount of small change available at any given time.

The machine would also run out of change fairly quickly. Right after the machine had been serviced things would be fine. Later in the afternoon it would spit $1 and $2 coins out with a notification that it required exact change. The solution, of course, was similar to the above issue. I kept small change around to ensure I’d always be able to get a drink when I required. I would always take extra coin with me just in case it decided to be picky.

The machine did not provide dimes as change. It only gave back quarters and nickles regardless of what you put in. Put in a $2 coin and expect to get back five quarters and three nickles change. When put in combination with the above solution I would end up with a sizable number of nickles in one of my desk drawers.

We like patterns. We like easily recognizable things. I became accustomed to counting the coin drops automatically. Three coins returned on three quarters, four on $1, and eight on $2. I would wait until I heard the appropriate number of coins drop before sticking my hand in the coin return and retrieving my change.

We moved to another building on the corporate campus recently. Unfortunately for my waist line, location may have changed but my habits have not. I went to the pop machine and stuck in $1. I pushed the button, my can of Coke dropped. Three coins dropped and I waited.

There was an odd moment while I listened in silence for that last coin to drop. It was a short moment but one I was very aware of. When it didn’t drop it was noticeably awkward. It’s a very simple, very small, and, to a degree, very stupid thing. Regardless, it forced me to consciously reconsider the situation. By breaking my expectations the situation forced me to consciously evaluate what was happening. It pulled me out of auto pilot and back in to the moment.

I realized a couple of things in rapid succession. This machine gives dimes as change. I get up from my desk and wander to the vending machines without being entire aware that I’m doing it. For the first time that day I was stimulated and thinking. This was different and different is most definitely good.

We should aspire to do this, to break expectations. We are surrounded by tropes and cliches and the banal machinations of our regimented daily lives. It’s easy to lay back in to those things and coast. It’s easy to repeat a good story. If we fight that urge, if we question our work, we can make moments engaging. We should aspire to tell to stories that subvert the expectations if only to transform a passive audience in to something more interesting.