It was another day in the graduate student lounge. I was passing the time surfing Facebook, a shameful practice I know. As I parsed through the waves of new information, one status post caught my eye. It was the Informatics department’s black market vending machine. It was on the black market because it was stocked by the faculty itself. As a result, it contained a treasure trove of goodies you could not buy anywhere else on campus. Like Coca-Cola products. Or Arnold Palmer. Or LEDs complete with battery (refrigerated of course).
Judging by today’s status update though, today was special. My eyes widen as I reread the post for the third time. There, as plain as day, were the operatic words:
“Chocolate Milk! No you didn't.....”
Now, when receiving status updates from a vending machine, there are a number of salient thoughts that should run through a person’s head. This includes:
“Since when did vending machines become sentient?”
“Why is it talking to me like it knows me?”
And my personal favorite: “Why am I Facebook friends with a talking vending machine!?”
None of these thoughts crossed my mind, for at that moment all I could think was, “OH.SHIT.CHOCOLATE.FUCKING.MILK.”
I jumped out of my seat, nearly knocking my chair over. My behavior attracted the confused stares of my colleagues who were also in the lounge with me. I replied with a glare of my own as my mind frantically tried to piece together an exit strategy. “They must never know!” I thought as I stood there for what seemed like hours if not minutes (you heard me!).
Finally, I slowly closed the lid of my laptop, gave a faint cough so as to misdirect my competition, then nonchalantly walked out of the lounge. Really it was the cough that made the entire performance.
As soon as I was out of sight, I rushed over to the vending machine. Facebook had not lied to me. There, sitting quietly and neatly in its little spindle, were eight little bottles of Nesquik brand chocolate milk. The yellow plastic bottles glistened in the backlight of the vending machines fluorescent lighting. And then there was the bunny. That brown, delightful bunny holding his caricature glass of chocolate ecstasy. His eyes were sparkling, his face beaming, as if to say, “Fear not child. For I hold the elixir of paradise. I implore you, please sample, for you shall know no finer love than this.”
How could I resist? I dove for my wallet. It seemed fate had been kind to me today. For there in my leather pouch stood exactly eight crisp dollar bills. “Truly, this night was to be a victorious night,” I said as each bill was eagerly masticated by the machine, its whirring and clicking harmonizing in all the right ways. There was nothing else in the world. There was simply me, and the chocolate milk.
And that is the story of how I drank eight bottles of chocolate milk in one day.
There you go! 500 words on Chocolate Milk. Hope you enjoyed that Morgan!
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