R.O.B.'s Vending Machine
For one, it was humming. And not the normal, reassuring hum of a functioning appliance. No, this was the kind of hum that seemed to vibrate at a frequency designed to irritate the very core of your being, like a mosquito had been hired by the universe to record a mixtape just to mess with your head. Secondly, there was a large, flashing neon sign above it that read: "Insert Coin for Enlightenment."
"Enlightenment?" Jerry mumbled, squinting at the machine. He checked his pockets. One crumpled dollar bill, two pennies, and a button that had mysteriously appeared out of nowhere. He sighed. No quarters. Obviously.
The vending machine clicked to life, the neon sign now blinking rapidly, as if it was getting impatient. Beneath it, in faded, almost illegible font, were the words: "Don't question it. Just press the button. Seriously."
So, naturally, Jerry questioned it. A lot.
"What's in there, huh? A cosmic soda? A bottle of inner peace?" Jerry scoffed, but the machine kept humming, the sign now throbbing with a disconcerting urgency. Fine. Whatever. He pushed the button, fully expecting nothing to happen.
That's when the vending machine spoke.
"SELECT YOUR REALITY."
Jerry blinked. "Excuse me?"
The machine didn't excuse him. Instead, a whirring sound emerged, and the options on the display screen began to scroll by:
Infinite Puppies, But Everything Smells Like BroccoliYour Entire Life Is a Simulation (Free Upgrade to Premium)Existential Dread Delivered via NachosThe One Where You're a Crab NowSurprise Me!
Jerry stared at the list. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the buttons. None of these seemed like reasonable choices. But then again, he was standing in the basement of a mall at 3 AM talking to a vending machine about alternate realities, so "reasonable" had kind of gone out the window about five minutes ago."I guess I'll go with…" Jerry trailed off. What was he even doing? This was insane. "I'll take the Surprise."
The machine dinged, then made a noise like a cash register eating a bag of rocks. A thin slot opened, and something shot out of it with alarming speed, smacking Jerry in the face.
He stumbled back, clutching what appeared to be…a key? But not just any key—a key made entirely of light. It hummed softly in his palm, pulsing like it had a heartbeat.
Before Jerry could process any of this, the walls around him flickered. The whole mall basement, the vending machine, everything, melted away like it was a badly coded video game.
He was floating now. In space. Surrounded by vending machines. Infinite vending machines, stretching out in all directions, each one labelled with weirder and weirder realities:
You're a Cucumber, but You Have a 9-to-5 JobEveryone You Love is Actually Just Jeff in DisguiseReality Doesn't Exist, Please Try Again Later
The key in his hand vibrated violently, and before Jerry could even wonder what terrible decision he'd made, a loud voice boomed out from nowhere."CONGRATULATIONS! YOU'VE UNLOCKED THE 'WHATEVER' REALITY."
"Uh, what does that mean?" Jerry called out, his voice echoing into the void.
The booming voice continued: "IN THIS REALITY, EVERYTHING IS EXACTLY THE SAME, BUT EVERYONE—AND I MEAN EVERYONE—IS ALWAYS A LITTLE DISAPPOINTED IN YOU."
"What?! Wait, no, I—" Jerry tried to protest, but it was too late.
He blinked, and suddenly he was back in his apartment. His cat was staring at him from the couch, but not in that cute, "I love you because you feed me" kind of way. No, this was a deep, soul-crushing look of vague disappointment.
Jerry gulped.
He went outside, hoping things might feel normal. Nope. As he passed his neighbour, Mrs. Jenkins, she gave him a tired sigh, shook her head slowly, and muttered, "Could've done better, Jerry."
Confused, Jerry kept walking. A man on a bicycle glared at him like he'd just kicked a puppy. The barista at the coffee shop frowned when he ordered his usual latte, shaking her head as if she expected more from him. "Really? That's it?" she asked with a sad, judgmental gaze.
Even the birds in the sky seemed to chirp with a passive-aggressive tone.
Jerry sprinted back to the mall. Back to the basement. Back to the vending machine. But it was gone. No sign it had ever been there. Just an empty wall, and a faint, lingering hum that seemed to mock him.
He stood there, catching his breath, realizing that, from now on, every single person in his life would carry a quiet, unshakable sense that he could be doing a little bit better.
And the worst part? Deep down, he knew they were right.