Recently, campus has been a hot-bed of issues. A left-of-center write-in candidate was chosen to replace our notoriously conservative lame duck; outraged students organized and skipped class on Monday to protest against the treatment of immigrants in America; even more students slept in to raise awareness about Sunday night drinking on Webster Avenue; over 150 students visited Dick's house with conjunctivitis ("the junk"); and countless others were kept inside, whooping the pertussis out of their lungs.
But larger than the battles over political ideology, discrimination or even disease was a fight that occurred last Tuesday on the first floor of Wheeler Hall -- a veritable throw-down between man and machine.
It started around 2:00 a.m. I left my room with a sweaty dollar bill clenched in my palm looking to purchase a delicious snack from the vending machine. I made it to the machine just fine and even managed to get my crumpled single into the sometimes-fickle slot. But when I punched in "A2" to get my delicious snack -- a bag of TGIF potato skin chips -- an error message appeared. After another try, I decided I could be just as happy with "A5" -- a bag of Doritos. Same message.
Not wanting to swallow my pride and return to my one-room L-shaped double empty handed, I decided that I could be fine with "B1" -- a bag of Lay's salt and vinegar potato chips.
A wave of relief surged though my body as the spindle started to turn, releasing my delicious snack into the trap down below. I would surely be in my room, enjoying a delicious snack in no time.
Wrong.
As my 45 cents jingled into the change tray, my chips got wedged between "E1" -- a forward-leaning bag of Reese's Pieces -- and the Plexiglas viewing panel.
If somebody went into a store with a dollar to buy some chips and left empty-handed with 45 cents, they would probably burn the store to the ground and have any survivors arrested. But, for some reason that sort of transaction is okay when the store is replaced by a vending machine.
So I obviously did not try to light the machine on fire or have it arrested. But I did hip-check it until I decided my chips were not worth causing a scene for. Looking back, I probably should have elected to use the blue light emergency center outside my dorm; I think that a Safety and Security officer and I could have easily turned the machine on its side, or at least smashed it open with a nearby blunt object. But I did no such thing. I marched back to my room and feel asleep.
I refuse to believe that in 2006 we do not have the technology to make vending machines that work 100 percent of the time. Everyone should go check out the new one in the fitness center that employs a conveyer belt to get you your Powerade -- it's pretty absurd, but the customer is always right.
I'm not going to attempt to make this into some veiled message about the Interfraternity Council's blatant anti-Semitism or the misappropriation of student money to Guster or even the fact that soon there will be more pink eye per capita at Dartmouth than in Nicaragua or Fiji. Frankly, it's just about me wanting to know who ate my chips without getting in trouble with anyone.
Whoever you are, I hope enjoyed your delicious snack, you traitor. You can slip the 55 cents under my door anytime. And if you really want to get on my good side, you could bring me a bag of "A2" for good measure.
d easily at Topside -- and it's guaranteed that no hip-checks will be involved.
