This is why I hate vending machines:
Ultimately one of two things happens when you get something from a vending machine: either you get your item, or you don't. If you don't get your item, the machine takes your money and is essentially stealing from you. If you do get your item, the machine drops it on a hard surface for you to bend down and pick up. It's like paying for an item, but only before handing the item nicely to you, the cashier abruptly Donovan McNabb’s it: one giant spike to the ground, shattering your food into pieces. “Here you go, vending machine, take my money in exchange for that food item, and oh, if you wouldn’t mind, could you please give me my Nature Valley granola bar crushed into hundreds of crumbs?”
Let’s face it, any time you go to a vending machine, chances are that you’re pretty starving. Vending machines are placed in their respective locations as a convenient snack-dispensing apparatus for the nutrient-depleted folks who weren’t disciplined enough to plan ahead and bring their own [often better and cheaper] snack. So after the starving person locates a vending machine, their ‘oasis in the desert,’ the vending machine – being the mean, cruel thing that it is – precedes to torture you by not accepting your $1 bill. You spend five minutes feverishly attempting to de-wrinkle your dollar until finally the machine takes it, and then breaks your candy bar right in front of your hungry face.
Sometimes you get lucky though, and get an 'extra' surprise item that falls out accidentally... and I'm sure if the machine could talk, he'd tell you that you got lucky, because vending machines are mean.