The machine hums contently as we approach.
“I want Mountain Dew,” you insist, sounding like a child.
This machine only has pictures of Gatorade, Pepsi, and Lipton Tea.
Frustrated, you paw at the picture of the Diet Pepsi.
“You have to press the button, not the picture,” I say.
You notice this and laugh. You also need to put the money in. I watch as you feed a single dollar into the machine.
“How much is it?”
You press the button for a Diet Pepsi, but nothing happens.
“You need another dollar,” I say, finally noticing the prices beneath the enlarged photos of ice-cold bottles.
“I want a Mountain Dew,” you say again, after feeding the machine another dollar, which it greedily accepts.
“Hold on.” There are eleven photos and nine buttons. One of those buttons is a Mountain Dew button. For no logical reason, I believe if you hit the Mountain Dew button you will receive one.
“Press the Mountain Dew button,” I say with a mischievous grin.
You grin back, uncertainty in your eyes. “Should I?”
With a deep breath, you press the Mountain Dew button. Anxious, we stare at the black square at the bottom of the machine. After the span of several breaths, a bottle pops out. A Lipton Tea.
“I hate tea!” you whine petulantly.
My laugher is so loud I’m sure they can hear it all the way down the apartment complex. Eventually I recover, wiping the tears from my eyes to find you standing there holding the Lipton Tea with disdain.
“Come on,” I say, heading towards the next machine, “I’ll buy you a Mountain Dew.”
“Well, I thought you had figured out the probability of getting one!”
“The probability?” I say, erupting into laugher once more. “I don’t math. I was just trying to decide if there would be Mountain Dew in the machine at all!”
Laughing, we walk back to the apartment, Lipton Tea in hand.