A Vending Machine on Wall Street

15:05:12.

“National’s offered at 99.” Karl shouted, his phone pinned between his shoulder and ear. His hands were busy frantically typing numbers on a black and orange screen.

“My guy is 97 bid repeating.” Jev barked back over his wall of computer monitors.

“Tell him he’s a clown. I’m not going any lower.”

“He might be a clown but he’s a clown who is about to drop me for Municipal, and I’m not going to push him. See if Coby’s guy’ll do it.”

Coby loomed over Jev at a neighboring standing desk. His appearance was that of a human coat rack. He had one phone pinned on his left shoulder, a kale-protein-coffee concoction in his left hand, and the right hand holding another phone to his other ear.

“It was this absolutely delightful Omakase. Twenty-four pieces. The Itamae trained in Japan for seven years under Saito himself.” Coby gushed into his left phone.

“Coby, I’m at 99.” Karl told him. No response. “Coby! At 99!” Coby looked down at Karl across from him.

“What’s the delta?” Coby asked.

“What’s the delta?” Karl, agitated and confused, stood up. “What are you doing over there? It’s a 37 delt!”

“I’m busy shopping my own order, genius! I spent six thousand dollars on sushi for this guy last night and I am trying to get paid!” Coby put down his power-blended brew and took the left phone from its shouldered position. He pressed it firmly to his ear. “Don’t worry about who was at dinner. Rip this 99 offer and you can come to the next one. 37 delta.” He turned his attention to the right phone and began to laugh. “I know, right? That uni just melted in your mouth. Impeccable.” He listened back into the left one now, snapping at Karl to get his attention that something important was coming over the line. “You lift? You lift 99? Ok, ok.” Coby slammed both phones down, slapped the desk, and said to Karl, “Take em! Mine! I’m paying your offer! 99 done.”

Karl snapped and pointed at Coby. He shouted into his phone, “Sold! 10,000 at 99. Thank you for your patronage. Prints to you in a sec.”

Karl hung up his phone and high-fived Coby over their monitors.

“Nice work!” Jev said as he got up from his desk. “Time for a snack.”

Karl looked to the early-20s analyst sitting hunched over next to him writing in a small black notebook, lost in another world.

“Hey! Agatha Christie! Cut it out with the mystery novels and take 99 to the floor!”

The analyst formerly known as Agatha Christie was me. I dialed the exchange floor while punching a trade ticket into a timestamp machine with my other hand.

“We get a bad print on this it’s coming out of your bonus.” Karl warned me.

“Stock confirmed. Spot…five…seven. Okay, send it to my IM. Thanks.” I said into the phone. “On the tape.” I told Karl. I paused. "You know...I’m not writing mystery novels.”

“Either way, I’m not making money from whatever you are doing.” Karl said.

“If it’s any consolation, neither am I.” I replied.

“So leave it at home.”

“We are here to make money. Nothing more. Nothing less.” Coby chimed in robotically.

“Those options you just printed? That puts me at 45k in commission on the day.” Karl said, standing triumphantly.

“Puts me at 50!” Coby countered. “Not bad for some sushi and sake!”

15:14:44.

A loud CRASH. We looked over. Jev had gotten a running start and driven his shoulder into the vending machine. His bag of veggie chips remained stuck in a horizontal elevated position between its former home of slot D7 and the glass.

“Every time! Who’s got Michael’s number? Give him a ring to come open this thing up. I’m sick of it eating my money.”

“I got it. Every penny counts.” Coby said.

“I have an idea.” Karl proclaimed. He turned to me. “Since you are so keen on doing things besides actual work. You might as well entertain us for a bit.”

“Uh, oh.” I thought to myself.

“When Michael comes and that vending machine is open, I want you to try to eat every single thing in there.”

Silence. Coby started to laugh. He slapped the desk. “Yes! Do it! Every. Single. Item!”

“Minus my chips.” Jev said, returning to his desk.

“You mean like one of each?” I asked.

“No. The whole inventory.” Karl replied.

I stared at the rows of snacks. They seemed to extend further and further the longer I looked. Did this machine have a back to it? Was this an infinite supply of treats lining up to destroy me?

“What is in it for me besides spending the rest of the day in a bathroom stall?” I asked.

“I got a thousand dollars that say you can’t do it.” Karl challenged.

“So I’d have to pay you if I lose? You don’t pay me enough for that! No bet.”

“I’ll match his grand…and cover your loss.” Coby said.

“Me too. Matter of fact. I’ll make it two grand. It’s a risk-free trade for you, Agatha. Plenty of upside.” Jev laughed.

“I wouldn’t say this is risk-free. I just had lunch.” I told them.

Elizabeth, the managing director, sensed the excitement and walked over. “What’s going on?” She asked.

“Well, right now we got a first-year who doesn’t feel like working, so we’re making a market on something a little more stimulating to keep productivity and morale high.” Karl told her.

“That’s not –“ I said, cut off by Elizabeth.

“Oh yeah?” She said. “I sense a floor bet coming to fruition here.”

“You’ve been doing this for too long, boss.” Coby elbowed.

“Vending machine. Four K pot right now. Downside is hedged.” Jev updated Elizabeth.

“You all covering the downside? Well isn’t that kind of you. Tell you what. I’ll make it a clean ten. I’ll bet six thousand dollars to make the pot ten K if this analyst can pull it off.”

Woah. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. I could probably make some more room in my stomach for five figures.

“I’m in!” I shouted.

“I figured you would be.” Elizabeth laughed. “I haven’t seen anyone do this since 2003.”

“And they ended up in the hospital.” Jev whispered.

“What? Did they succeed at least?” I asked.

“The gum.” Elizabeth said. “Little tip. You gotta eat it. You can’t chew it. So you gotta decide what your strategy is. Do you start with it? Finish with it? You gotta have a game plan.”

I surveyed the bottom row of the machine. Game plan? There were five different types of gum. Each row was four or five packs deep. I gulped.

“I guess no point in waiting around.” I said.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Karl stopped me. “Have I taught you nothing about financial markets? There is a clear demand here. Why would you stop at ten? Build the market. Get other bids. Be a broker. Sell yourself. I want you to go around this trading floor with your little black book there and write down everyone who gets involved and what their bid is. Then you can get started.”

“The man is right. It is for your own good.” Said Elizabeth.

“Think of them as investors for your debut novel.” Coby laughed.

So I did. I went around the office. Each coworker more eager to see me gorge myself on Funyuns and Honey Buns than the last. I came back to my desk, book in hand.

“What are we at?” Coby asked.

“Twenty thousand dollars.” I said.

“Not bad.” Karl replied.

“I was hoping it would be more.” Elizabeth chuckled.

“Michael’s here.” Said Jev, eating his now liberated veggie chips.

“I’m gonna stick around for this.” Said Michael, leaning against the now open machine.

Elizabeth laughed. “Let’s begin.”

15:20:11.

I started with the chips. I figured a solid, savory, and heavily saturated carbohydrate base would serve me well before moving on to the sweets. A bizarro food pyramid if you will.

I figured it was like carbo-loading for a marathon. After all, they never said anything about a time limit, so I definitely was not going to treat this like a sprint.

“You have until market close.” Karl said as I finished my seventh bag of salt-n-vinegar kettle-cooked potato chips.

I jinxed myself. I looked up at the 24-hour trading floor clock. It blinked.

15:25:03.

T-35 minutes. I looked back at the vending machine and mulled strategy.

“The ruffles will be easy. I love those. Sun chips, okay, those are light. Trail mix? Nuts might be a bit of a wild card but we’ll persevere. This is for my writing fund after all. I’ll get the jalapeño chips out of the way with the Sour Patch Kids. I guess those are the most similar palate? I don’t know. I can’t second guess my strategy now. Those oatmeal cookies look like they’ve been in there since the last person did it in '03. Kit-Kats, M&M’s, Reese’s will all be a breeze. 3 Musketeers are going to be very rich, that will slow me down. Baby Ruth…ugh, I hate Baby Ruth’s.”

15:31:14.

My first mistake. I ate the Cheetos too early and proceeded covering everything after it with a layer of orange dust. This was complemented by another coating three items later courtesy of the powdered donuts. I was determined to fight through the adversity.

15:37:11.

A consistent crowd had gathered. Many more people, investors and non-betting spectators alike, arrived at various food checkpoints to see my progress. I was doing well. Telephones rang around me, clients calling with orders. They would have to wait. Something far more important was taking place on this battlefield of capitalism. This arena of the free market. Michael wasn’t worried about his inventory. He had a restock coming tomorrow. I was feeling encouraged, optimistic, maybe even…dare I say…good? Probably the sugar.

15:49:49.

Then came the Starburst. I had been so caught up on how to attack the gum I completely overlooked the Starburst. What was I thinking? How could I be so naive? Bigger individual pieces than the gum meant they were going to be harder to swallow whole. My jaw was thoroughly warmed up, but 10 packs of Starburst with 12 pieces each, I was going to have muscle failure. Hopefully a new jaw cost less than 20 thousand dollars.

I asked for some water. Karl consulted with Elizabeth on the rulebook. They obliged my request, and I chewed my way through, washing my mouth after each piece. My ears were ringing, cheeks were throbbing, tongue was swollen. I tried to remind myself I was making up for all the years my parents never let this kind of food into the house. They’d be so proud of me.

15:58:36.

The final pack of spearmint gum. I stared it down. Never did such a refreshing palate cleanser seem so nefarious. I chewed. I swallowed. I swallowed. I chewed.

“3…2…1…!” They chanted, my fans, and like a breath of extremely fresh and minty air, it was all over. The market closing bell rang out.

16:00:00.

“Open your mouth! Open your mouth! No remnants after the buzzer!” Karl yelled. I opened and stuck out my tongue. Nothing was hiding. Elizabeth and Karl raised my hands in the air like a boxer standing over a knocked-out opponent. In this case hundreds of candy wrappers.

“We have a winner!” Elizabeth and Karl proclaimed. Everyone cheered. “What do you have to say for yourself now that you are twenty thousand dollars richer?”

“Thank you to everyone who believed in me. I couldn’t have done this without you. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

And with that concise victory speech, I picked up my notebook and pen to go write about my winnings in what would be my corner office for the rest of the day…the bathroom.