I remember that it had been another cold day on campus, and dozens of us students were huddling together inside the small lounge near the only food machines for a quarter mile either way. A news channel was droning on and on about something I couldn’t give a flip about and I was finally having a nice moment with a high school friend I hadn’t been able to meet up with for a long while. I remember being hungry and shivery and kind of in a mood. My College Algebra class was kicking my ass and I was fairly certain that if I was going to get a passing grade that semester it was only because I showed up everyday and not because, in fact, I had learned any college algebra.

So many people were trying to shove inside and find any extra space to sit and the din was becoming so loud that I couldn’t even concentrate on the conversation that was trying to form between me and my friend. My mind began to drift and I started to do more people-watching than friend-listening, and as I scanned around the room I noticed him. It wasn’t like it was very hard to pick him out of a room of young adults sipping coffee and talking about their weekend plans, because he was much older, had a long Walt Whitman sort of beard, and looked like he hadn’t had a good shower in at least a week. I looked at him and I felt the tired, the sad, and the hungry. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

I nodded and made some remarks to my friend without really knowing what she was talking about. Somehow, nothing was more important than watching the man and to see what his story was going to be. By some miracle a table had opened up near the coffee and the ice cream machines and he was able to sit down and place a worn out backpack on the table. A few students gave him the side-eye and postured themselves in a way that suggested that they were uncomfortable with his being there, but (as far as I could tell) no one was overt in their behaviors and no one approached him to ask him to leave. He pulled out a chair and sat down, his body folding over itself a little bit, making it seem as if he was huddling into himself to keep warm. 

He unzipped the front pocket of his bag and started to rummage around for something–but I couldn’t tell what it was right away. I swiftly looked away when he suddenly looked up and scanned his eyes around the room. I felt guilty for not letting him live his life without observation, but I was also compelled to keep watching. I decided not to be a nice person and to continue staring at him. He looked back down into his bag and gave a sigh. He was just so tired. Putting his hand into the pocket he rummaged around and began to pull out various items–things that looked like candy wrappers, coins, and other things that looked worn out and crumpled. I didn’t think about it too hard and I tried to get back to my friend.

After successfully managing to give a little bit of my free time to the conversation at hand, my eyes wandered back to the man with the beard. He had managed to make a little pile of coins and was currently counting to himself. He would look up to the ice cream machine and then back down to his money. It was obvious what he wanted to buy and I was hoping that he had enough money to make his purchase. I thought it was funny that he might want to eat something cold when it was so terribly chilly outside, but he was determined and he was putting in the work to get what he wanted. I was a little startled when he suddenly pushed his chair back (which made a sound that was surprising and strikingly loud in such a busy place) and walked over to the vending machine. He would look at the offerings and then quickly back to his money to make sure that it was still there. Then back to the machine and again to the money. I couldn’t tell if he was afraid that someone might take it or that he was trying to calculate what he could afford to buy himself.

He seemed to finally make a decision for his purchase and he slowly (I think, because by this time there was a massive flow of bodies rushing to get to their next classes and I couldn’t see shit) inserted his money into the machine. His hand reached for the various buttons to put in the code that would bring forth his choice and then paused before he made his commitment. Just as the behavior he had displayed before, he looked at the code under the treat and then back to the number pad. Then again to the treat and back to the pad. I felt his earnest desire to not mess something up during his process, something that would keep him from getting what he desired in that moment. 

One coin, two coins, three coins, it was clear that all of the money in his backpack were nickels and dimes. It had been a while since I had purchased an ice cream from the machine and I knew they weren’t cheap. Nowadays it would be a bargain to get an ice cream for $1.50, but back in the day it was highway robbery and only people who really, really, really wanted an ice cream would pay that much. I could hear the coins jingle down into the machine and I breathlessly (yes, breathlessly–I just wanted the dude to get his freaking ice cream) waited to hear the satisfying thunk of his prize well won. 

But damn, if the machine didn’t return any such prize. All of the effort that the man had put forth had all been in vain because no treat had fallen down. He began to get agitated and start to push buttons on the pad. He put his hands on the machine and started to move it back and forth. He whipped his head around to look at the table to make sure his things were still there and then back to the machine, obviously hoping that the ice cream would magically appear. I felt like shit. But I also felt paralyzed because I wasn’t brave enough with my social skills to go and help him and, for all my (covert? eh) staring, I didn’t want him to know that I knew of his plight. 

As with most vending machines, there’s a small sticker with a small phone number and small message saying to give the company a call if something ever went amiss with their property. This was before the days of the cell phones (holy hell, I’m old) and to put in that much effort for such a thing was more than the average person wanted to do. Even though it was clear that the man had used up most of the money he had, he was not looking to start the process of contacting the vending machine owner. 

He began to walk back and forth between the ice cream machine and the coffee machine. He pushed the numbers on the ice cream pad and re-lived his earlier results. He pushed the coin return button over and over and over again but nothing changed. His posture sagged and he almost put his head to the glass in defeat. My heart was broken. My friend finally noticed that I wasn’t engaging with her and began to write something in her notebook (maybe, probably, but I forgot she was there by then, so who really knows) and my brain started working frantically to see what I could do. I obviously didn’t have it in me to go talk to him, but I did, surprisingly (since I was a beyond poor college student), have enough money in my pocket to pay for a new ice cream. 

But how to get it to him? It was almost time for my next class and I was going to have to rush out, but I needed to do something. By this time he started walking across the room, back and forth, trying to get over his disappointment and maybe even hoping that a miracle would come forth in the form of the machine owner just showing up at that moment to help him with his troubles. As he was walking away one more time, I got up from my table and threw my backpack over my shoulder. The money I had was in my right hand and I was determined to get it to him one way or another, and without ever being seen doing it.

As he began to walk away from his table again, I quickly slid my handful of money so that it slid slightIy under his bag and bee-lined straight to the exit. I didn’t know how long it would take for him to see it, or what he would do with the money if he did see it, but I knew that I needed to finish watching the story before I could go on to my English class. As soon as the door closed behind me, I moved to the window and started watching him again. My friend followed me out, poked me in the side and asked, “Do you feel better now?” I was completely shocked, because apparently I thought she was so unobservant that she had no idea I had been basically ignoring her for ten minutes! (Yes, that’s how self-centered I was. Essentially trying to be the hero for someone I didn’t know at the expense of giving time to an old friend who wanted my attention. Ain’t I a prize?) 

She stood by my side and we looked together to see what might happen. The man came back to his backpack and stopped in his tracks. He looked up to the machine and then back down to the money. He scanned his neck from the left to the right and then turned around to see if he could find anything or anyone behind him that looked like they had just gifted someone with money. He sat down in his chair and began to finger the coins, counting them all out until he had the correct amount he needed. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and scooped the money from the table into his hand. He walked to the ice cream machine and moved his hand up as if to start putting coins inside. But he paused, and I think it was because he didn’t want to make a mistake and lose his money again. But it was the ice cream that he wanted and it was the ice cream he had already put in so much effort to receive. 

I was already late for class by this point but I didn’t really care. What was going to happen with this man and his ice cream? Was he going to be hurt again, or was he going to be rewarded for his dedication? My friend said goodbye and hurried on her way and I stood and stared to see how my life was going to go. I mean, I was so invested in the story by then that whatever happened to the man was going to happen to me and whatever he felt was what I was going to feel.

This time I couldn’t hear any coins dropping into the machine (and I didn’t spend time watching any movements involving the number pad)–I just wanted to see some happy body language and a man sitting down to eat his ice cream. His hand came down to his side and then he bent over, his hand reaching towards the little door at the bottom of the machine. HIs hand disappeared for a second and then came out of the door with an ice cream clutched in his fingers. He didn’t have a smile or a sense of relief about him. He just had his treat. He wasn’t looking around anymore and he had already moved on from the moment money appeared on his table. He sat down and I could see his shoulders move up and down with a sigh. He opened up the wrapper and bit down on the ice cream.

 And, yes, I felt a lot better. 

©DRB 2024

Photo by Joseph Gonzalez on Unsplash