Just What is in a Drinks Machine?
Its early Saturday morning, I am at work and I have just brought myself a drink of warm brown stuff from the machine that lives in our waiting area. As I slurp down foamy fluid my mind is desperately trying to work out what it is and whether or not I have even been given what I asked for. It could be tea but I am not entirely sure. It could be coffee, or possible the sedimentary suspension gathered from the bottom of a septic tank (with milk); how would I ever know? It occurs to me that if I understood more about the mysterious device from whence it came I might be able to discern more accurately what it has spat into my cup.
Knows more than it lets on….
I really do not trust this machine… I do not trust how much stuff the this cream-coloured obelisk of disappointment apparently contains. There at least ten drinks listed on the front, (probably more but after that I run out of fingers) all of which I am assured are actually varying beverages, and not just brown paint mixed with sugar in random ratios. After careful deduction and spectral analysing of these ten I have concluded that there six basic elements; tea, coffee, chocolate, milk, water and sugar (they are on the periodic table, just under the bit where the sheet ends). All of these must be contained in a device the size of the average fridge, which does not sound that unusual until you realise that there must also be space enough for the paper cups, the money thing and accommodation for the 57 science fairies that make it all run.
This is pretty much the extent of my understanding of the universe.
Also there has to be an infinite supply of everything. I have sat watching for days on end and never once seen anyone come to top it up or transplant any of its contents. There are no pipes entering or leaving it, so where is the water coming from? Are the Hydrogen Gnomes in a constant state of mass conjugation with the Oxygen Gnomes? (A-level Chemistry ftw!) On one occasion a cup failed to dispense and for a brief moment I believed I had finally discovered the machines limit. Sadly however on my second attempt one did appear, with no explanation as to whether this was the second cup or simply the first cup running late.
How does one store even store such a vast quantity of such things safely? Does the it involve protons or something? Should I be worried about the Spacial Reduction Field tainting the caffeine? What about radiation levels? I swear one time it started humming I briefly went blind. It can not have just been me blinking, as I have given that up (that’s when they get you). The answer might be simply that everything is highly pressured and piercing the machines case with a pin will cause it to rocket off over the horizon like a O2 cylinder into the face of a Bond villain. Maybe its just a gateway to a hellish chaos dimension consisting of brown runny stuff.
All of this analysis leaves me with two possibilities; that machine is either a liar or has some how mastered Alchemy.
Yeah that looks exactly like what is in my cup.
Either way drinking its excrement is probably not a safe idea, especially now that The Machine know I am onto it. But what choice do I really have? Not drinking tea? That’s the most insane idea of them all. I am destined to continue this dance of death until one of us is gone or start bringing my own tea bags. When my body is finally found I can only hope the evaluation of my stomach contents will in some small help mankind in its war against coffee machines. Good luck to you all.
There is a Leaf on the Line of My Mind
At the time of writing I am currently stuck on a train somewhere between the real world and Birmingham New Street. I have only phone and Nintedo DS with a dead battery to sustain me. After an hour of sitting here my mind is desperately trying to think of a way to recharge a battery using only my hair and a handful of fluff I found at the bottom of my bag. I cant survive on Angry Birds for much longer…
I’ve been playing for so long all I can think about are piglets weeping over little round coffins…. war is hell.
For reasons beyond my understanding the trains conductor seems to have taken a wrong turn somewhere back by the Five Ways round-about and has driven us all down an abandoned mine shaft. I can only guess that this is fact the approach to New Street Station. The horror builds in the pit of my stomach. For those of you who have never visited this joyous little cavernous abyss, just picture Thomas the Tank Engine meets The Descent.
So why am I heading there? At this stage I really can’t remember. I’ve been stuck here so long I think my eyes are healing over. My spine is degenerating into a hardened exoskeleton and soon my arms will have withered down to nothing. Above me it could be either midday or midnight. I hope its midday, as midnight in Birmingham usually involves getting covered vomit sooner or later.
The conductor has just told us that the ‘slight delay’ has been caused by congestion at the station. This question has probably been addressed before, but just how do you manage to get a congested train station? They’re on tracks. I’ve seen those massive model railways they have down in Cornwall. Hundreds of little engines scurrying about little cardboard hills and comedy nudist beaches. That’s all controlled by just one man with a dial, and they do alright. Why can’t full size trains just work in the same way? When I was three I had a Duplo train set that was more effectively managed, that’s even after I had eaten the wheels.
Terrified Lego citizens flee their plastic town as it is devoured by an unstoppable 3 year old.
My thinking is that we need to copy Japan. Last year, only one in sixty-four million of their trains was late, as is my understanding. We (that is the people England-land) designed the steam engine, and now they get to lord it over us with their reliable, clean, wide-gauge railways? That’s not fair. Although as a side note I do have a suspicion that maybe their network is not as comfortable as they make it out be. I’ve seen that video, with the men in white gloves stuffing people onboard like they’re trying to put away a Pac-a-Mac. I want to see the video from the next stop, when the doors open and everyone sprays out like a bizarre Mentos-Coke Fountain of Japanese commuters.
I am not an expert, (although this is the internet so screw it, I’ll say I’m High Professor of Trains if that makes people listen to me) but why not an extra carriage, Japan? Yes I know people will say ‘but then it will be too long for the platform’. But screw the platform. If you are prepared to cram onto a packed train and come out flatter then the Coyote at the end of a particularly unsuccessful Roadrunner episode, then surly you will be prepared to stand in the mud? Anyway, I should not be so quick to criticise other countries transport systems when in writing the last three paragraphs I’ve only moved about three feet and that was only to throw my hair-fluff power source out the window before it went into melt down.
Picture: Legitimate Transportation Alternative
So what is the solution then? Other than killing myself with the cord from my underpants? I would like to go on record as having been the first to suggest an endless train. One that just keeps going around and back on itself like an escalator. It could be done. Just mind the gap as you leap on and remember to tuck and roll when you dive off again.
Someone, I can’t remember who, suggested paving over the train lines and using them as extra motorways. Okay, I can see that. Filling Birmingham New Street with concrete is an interesting idea. I have a list of other buildings we could bury while we are at it. But are you not just as likely to get stuck on a motorway as you are on a train? On a train you may not be guaranteed a seat, but at least you don’t have to be constantly worrying about the truck driver on his mobile. Unless he’s on the seat next to you, playing Hip-Hop at a volume that would overpower a shuttle launch. Nor do you have to worry about the million other little metal murder boxes sharing the road with you; cutting across lanes and generally shuffling around you like a high-speed Rubix cube of death.
Those things have already claimed enough lives…
Car or train, basically, we’re boned. Save up for a hovercraft. (Or dig up all major cities and move them closer move together.) Maybe I’m being too hard on the British Transport Network… No wait. No I’m not. The sodding train’s just moved thirty centimetres and stopped again. Maybe there’s a leaf on the line in the tunnel. If so, maybe they would like me to go and pick it up for them.
Now I grow weary and my eyes are dimming… if this rambling rant makes it to the internet, it means I somehow survived. Possibly by eating the chewing gum I found had been used to stick a ticket to the window. If not, someone call for International Rescue.
The Famous Ben 