A Maniac’s Death
I love vending machines. How much, you ask?
Even when the only money left in my pocket is a thousand yen, and I need to keep eating for another week, if I see an unfamiliar item in a vending machine, I will buy it without a second thought.
But then, wouldn’t that mean I like what’s inside vending machines rather than vending machines themselves?
No, no—it’s both. I like both. I adore the designs of vending machines, boxes packed full of a myriad of attractive products for sale. They’re like treasure chests to me.
Beverages I’ve never tried before—carbonated drinks with ingredients that come together to create a land mine of flavor. Hot beverages that simply must be enjoyed while they’re piping hot. I just know that if I don’t buy them, they’ll be gone in a month. So I have no choice, right?
Not only beverages, either. Vending machines have snacks, sweets, and bread, and some will even heat up frozen food for you.
It goes beyond edible things, too. Vending machines can be filled to the brim with stationery, clothing, socks, and even adult items. Anyone who says they’re not interested is a liar.
Vending machines, from past and present, from all around the world—I love them so much that I’ve gone on trips to see rare ones that I find on the Internet. Those are the best trips. My computer is filled with the cherished files from my travels, including all the spectacular pictures I’ve taken.
In a way, it was probably inevitable that I died from being crushed under a vending machine.
There was one specimen, you see, loaded on a light truck meant for placing vending machines down. The truck crashed into a car that came speeding around a turn, and the vending machine flew right at me.
Now that I think about it, if I had tried my best to dodge it, I probably would have lived. But the vending machine entranced me with its brand-new design, its exquisite form. I had to save that vending machine. And so I tried to catch it before it hit the ground.
Even without anything inside it, a vending machine weighs around 880 pounds—fully stocked, it’s said they can exceed 1,700 pounds. Could a human being possibly catch such a heavy piece of metal flying at them?
As for the answer—well, seeing as how it crushed me and I died, you probably know it already.
And so a vending machine maniac died—just as he should have, in a way.
****
Normally, that’s where the tale would have ended. But my story has a sequel.
After falling into an endless sleep, embracing the cold touch of metal, I abruptly wake up.
While I’m relieved I’m not dead, I’m also worried whether the vending machine I caught was safe. That turns out to be a groundless fear.
Why, you ask? That will become painfully clear in a little bit.
For some reason, I’m standing near a lake I’ve never seen before. I’m not moving, I’m not talking, I can’t feel anything. I’m just here.
I want to shout, proclaim my confusion, but what comes out of my mouth is…
“Welcome.”
That was unexpected. Unable to help doubting my sanity, I imagine for a moment that somebody else had spoken, but it felt like it was me.
I calm myself down and try speaking again.
“Thank you.”
Both the tone of voice and the manner of speech are crisp and easy to understand. It’s my voice, but it doesn’t seem right. For starters, that wasn’t what I was trying to say. But when I tried to talk, those were the words that naturally came out.
I focus my mind, determined to get it this time for sure, and speak.
“Please come again.”
And then:
“Get one free with a winner.”
Furthermore:
“Too bad.”
Finally:
“You’re a winner.”
I’ve heard these phrases before. Many times. There’s no doubt. It’s the voice I hear when I buy something at my favorite manufacturer’s vending machine.
No, it can’t be. That’s utterly preposterous. Sure, maybe I love vending machines more than anything, but there’s no way I’d ever die and be reborn as one, is there…?
I mean, I can see this vast scenery in front of me.
Small, scattered clouds floating along in the sky, a giant lake before me. I seem to be on a lakeside. And after all, if I look down, I can see my reflection in the lake.
A body completely white, perfectly straight, and rectangular, the ideal blend of elegance and functional beauty. Behind the immaculately polished glass, plastic bottles of mineral water and small cans of corn soup are lined up in order. The golden ratio and nothing less—the arrangement exudes a calculated style. A double-layered gentleness, one that goes beyond “hot” and “cold” to grant “cool” and “warm.”
On top of that, the prices have been set magnanimously—the cans 100 yen, the bottles 130. No matter where I look, it’s spectacular… But this is a vending machine!
Whaaaaaat?! You’ve got to be kidding me! This is impossible! I can’t have been reborn as a vending machine. That would be the worst…or would it? Maybe God had actually been merciful to me, allowing me to be reborn as something I love.
B-but still, I mean, car enthusiasts don’t want to become cars. Oh, but back in kindergarten, I remember a friend saying he wanted to be a police car when he grew up. I wonder if his dream came true.
I’ll just have to accept that I’m a vending machine now and there’s nothing I can do about it. And if I’m being honest, it doesn’t even feel bad—that’s the sad thing about maniacs.
Anyway, crying and wailing won’t get me anywhere. I don’t like this, but I have to accept it. I exhale, trying to vent all the murk and haze pent up in my chest.
“You’re a winner.”
Shut up, me.
It seems like whenever I try to talk, a canned line comes out. After experimenting for a while, I’ve learned all of my available phrases.
“Welcome.” “Thank you.” “Please come again.” “Get one free with a winner.” “Too bad.” “You’re a winner.” “Insert coins.”
Looks like that’s it. Better than not being able to talk at all, I guess, but I can’t have a conversation with anyone like this. If I stumbled across a vending machine endlessly repeating those lines over and over, I know I’d run away.
If I have to give up on conversations, then what can I actually do? Something possible for a vending machine… Sell products? There’s nobody around to buy them, so I can’t do that at the moment.
Come to think of it, there isn’t a soul in sight. Are my sales going to be all right?
Even if this is some remote location, somebody’s gotta come by eventually. No one would ever put a vending machine in a place where it won’t have good sales.
This place seems like a tourist spot. Maybe there’s a summerhouse on the lake. Even if nobody comes, someone from the manufacturer would probably be around to do an inspection or swap out my items.
I decide to search for something I can do, so that when someone does come and I have a chance to talk to them, I can make the most of it.
Firstly, it would be ideal if I could move, but I’ve been trying to for a while now, and my body won’t budge. Of course, if a vending machine sprouted arms and legs and started walking around wherever it wanted, that would be terrifying.
Isn’t there anything else I can do? The prerecorded vending machine voice samples play when I want them to. That must mean I can, to some degree, control this vending machine’s functions.
If vending machines do anything, it’s accepting money and dispensing items. That’s all, isn’t it? Maybe I can dispense the items without taking any money…? I don’t have anything else to do, so it’s time to test things out.
First, I’ll start by understanding everything about my body. I, er, suppose I’ll have to accept that I’m not a human but a vending machine. My muscles, bones, and organs are mechanical parts, electrodes, and items. My voice is contained within a handful of recorded lines. I don’t have arms or legs.
That’s, well…the feeling I get, at least.
Times like these call for accepting reality and making calm decisions. And occasionally, kicking it into high gear and moving boldly.
Yes, just like those beverages, separated into cool and warm… Even I don’t understand what that analogy is supposed to mean, but that’s how I’m going to approach this.
I’m a vending machine. People move their bodies with their minds. What kind of vending machine would I be if I couldn’t control my faculties with mine?
Believe in the vending machine. Become the vending machine. I am a vending machine. I will understand my body!
[Vending Machine] |
|
(C) Mineral Water | ¥130 (x100) |
(W) Corn Soup | ¥100 (x100) |
PT 1,000 |
|
{Features} Cold Retention, Heat Retention |
|
Huh? Something just flashed through my thoughts… Wait, I don’t have a brain, do I? Anyway, a bunch of words showed up in my mind.
Hmm. They must be the kinds of beverages in me. It’s a lonely lineup, but I suppose it’s better than having a mess of shady drinks. And no matter what anyone says, plain old mineral water is awesome.
Besides, canned corn potage is delicious in winter. Actually, is there a way to figure out who the manufacturers are?
More words flash into my mind.
Hmm. This is a list of mineral water manufacturers. Some are brands everyone knows by name, and others are smaller, lesser-known companies. I know every single one, of course, and I’ve sampled all of them.
The mineral water installed now is from what is probably the biggest company of them all. Could I change it?
[You must spend points to change item types.]
Huh? Now some words have appeared. What are points? Is that what’s listed below the CORN SOUP line?
Then how do I use them? Hmm. Can I control this mental display somehow? Will it accept a vague sense of…I don’t know, something?
[You can spend 10 points to change an item’s manufacturer.]
Hey, it did. I imagined using a mouse in my brain, bringing the cursor over to the PT word in the list, and left-clicking on it. Then a reply popped up. What’ll happen if I right-click on it?
[Points are converted from currency. By spending points, you can restock, change items, and add functions. One point is consumed per hour instead of electricity.]
Oh, an explanation appeared. That’s useful. It’s time to investigate this body thoroughly and completely.
