That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler to suffer the high carbohydrates of the bag of cookies on the second row, second slot from the left in the vending machine, or to select 7G with its delightfully healthy power bar with little flavor and, by denying junk food, end my stomach pangs?
The famous speech from Hamlet has been on my mind a lot lately, because my Shakespeare class is spending two weeks on it. But honestly, a trip to that unforgiving row of pre-selected snack fare is not for the faint of heart. There isn’t much to eat from a vending machine that is good for you. Even the water has uncertain origins, no matter who makes it. The rule is that if it looks good, it isn’t good for you.
The vending company designates the healthiest choices with a little eco green leaf by the selection number. Normally it’s something you’d rather use in your kid’s science project to build a brick wall than put in your mouth.
I won’t even go into detail about those corkscrew devices that hold the products in the slots. It’s like a bad Vegas gamble every time you put in your coins and hit the button, hoping the item you chose won’t get stuck in the coil and dangle in mid-air mockingly while you remain starving and out of spare change. In case you’re wondering, I usually employ the hip bump method to dislodge stuck products, but these machines are set into the wall and have no exposed sides. Darn!
I travel between two offices every so often, and the other office has an ice cream vending machine. The diet demon might as well settle in and watch the fun as I try to avoid it but wind up getting a Blue Bunny Champ Cone anyway. If you’ve eaten Blue Bunny ice cream, you know it’s the most necessary guilty pleasure ever. The Champ Cone is a little more substantial than those other nutty cone novelties, and one cone can be a meal in itself calorie wise if you’re determined to cut down to one meal a day.
Every bite of food from a machine is bliss on the tongue, and a new building block of fat to the gut, but without some pleasure in life, those vending machine companies would be out of business. The guilt is worth it when the gut stops grumbling mid-afternoon. Pass the Champ Cone, please.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog 