Potato Chips From a Vending Machine

I ate lunch out of the vending machines today. I had a meatball sub, a bag of potato chips and a diet Coke. When I was buying the potato chips I had a recollection, sort of like déjà vu, but I have had this remembrance before, although not for several years. The recollection was of one of my early heroes, and his heroic act. To be honest, to me he is still something of a hero.

When I was a little girl of about 6 years old a nearby community center was holding a ballet recital. My friend, her big sister, and I wanted to go so my mother volunteered to drive us there and drop us off. I probably would not have been old enough to go except for the older girl who was with us. Anyway, my mother gave me 75 cents for a snack, if I got hungry.

Well, I became hungry as soon as we entered the building and marched by the vending area. At the recital’s first intermission I climbed out of my chair and traveled to the vending area. I put a couple of quarters into a machine and pushed the button to buy a bag of potato chips. The only problem was; nothing happened. I was not completely set on potato chips so I pushed another button for a different snack. Again, nothing happened. The machine remained silent. I finally pushed the coin return button, but the machine stayed quiet.

About that time a scruffy, older boy came by. I stood back as he dropped his coins into the machine. He pushed a button and not only did he get his snack, but the coin return sent him an additional 50 cents. Naturally I knew the money was mine but what could I do, I was a little girl and the boy was both big, and dusty.

The boy gleefully hooted “Jackpot!” as he stared at his small, newfound fortune. He then placed the money into a plastic coin purse, pushed the coin purse into his pocket, gave me one final, quick glance, and then marched away.

Saddened, I turned and started back for the auditorium. But I traveled only a few steps when the same boy grasped my arm and turned me around. For a second or two I was scared, but then the boy calmly asked me if I had lost the fifty cents in the machine. A smile sprang to my face and I nodded. The boy pulled out his coin purse and poured its entire contents into his hand’s palm. There was about 80 cents, and a few mysterious odds and ends. The boy pointed to one of the quarters and said, “Well here’s your problem. You were trying to use a Canadian quarter. They don’t work in machines, at least not machines in America.” The boy then put two American quarters into the machine and instructed me to push the button I wanted. A few seconds later I was holding my bag of potato chips. The boy gave me a little pat on the shoulder, turned and walked away. I did not even thank him.

It might seem like a small thing, but that magnanimous gesture of sacrificing a jackpot stayed with me through all of my childhood. Even today I remember the occasion, especially when I happen to buy a bag of potato chips out of a vending machine. I sometimes wonder what ever happened to the boy. He is probably a good-natured, honest man with modest financial means. I can tell you this; I would buy him a bag of potato chips in a heartbeat. I owe him that, and a whole lot more.