There is a vending machine in the break area. It offers the normal assortment of fizzy beverages in cold 12oz cans for .65 cents. A larger, plastic-bottled, version is offered by a nearby vending machine; these cost 1.25.
I prefer the cans. Metallic tasting diet coke always wins.
But I digress.
The .65 vending machine is broked. Oh, it will take all of my coins – but about one in three won’t register in the machine’s small calculating electronic brain. I’ve lost a good two or three dollars in change over the last year to this machine.
And then, a few weeks ago, I figured it out: the coins that the machine ate sounded as if they weren’t going far enough in – they were making it just enough to fall into some kind of crack. But if I flicked the coin in with decent velocity, and at the right angle, the coin machine would always register it. This works very well for quarters and dimes. Nickels, on the other hand, are proving to be tricky.
Now each time I approach the vending machine, I know it’s secret. I accept its challenge. Just me against the vending machine.