Pathologically Genuine VI: Vending Machines and Autism
I assumed that the relationship between autism and vending machines was a priority of the National Institutes of Health leading to many conflicting scientific publications. But I was wrong.
I grew up in the late 1960s. Back in those days, vending machines required physical activity. The typical vending machine required one to insert a coin and then pull a lever under the item one wanted. So, if you wanted to say buy a package of “Good and Plenty” or a pack of “Winstons”, you at least had to burn a few calories to get them. And the items just fell down where they were easily picked up.
I am nostalgic for these machines. I will never have nostalgia for the machines we have these days. I mean it is convenient now that you can place your credit card against a chip reader and then push a button, but they just aren’t as reliable. If all works out in our modern machines, then a spring moves forward and your item falls to the bottom where you can retrieve it. But sometimes the springs won’t let go of the item causing one to get violent or to grab and shake the machines like a dance partner in a rave. These machines also require you to put your hand and arm through a slot into a dark space where monsters and snakes reside, causing terror for those that fear grabbing the head of a boa constrictor instead of a bag of potato chips.
Back in the days of the simpler vending machines, bathrooms often had them. In those machines, you would put a quarter into the slot and turn an octagon shaped handle and a surprise would appear. I liked those machines because most of the ones I used gave me a pack of “Wash and Dry” towelettes. I have no idea why I liked those towelettes, but I did.
I loved using those old vending machines when I was young. Recently, I have been wondering if my romance with old vending machines was related to being autistic.
I assumed that the relationship between autism and vending machines was a priority of the National Institutes of Health leading to many conflicting scientific publications. But I was wrong. Apparently, I may be one of only three people who are curious about this relationship.
Two of those people published an article in 1961 in the Journal of Chronic Diseases (in 1961 autism was though as a chronic disease). This was the first article to come up in both a Google and a Google Scholar search to the question” “do autistic people like to use vending machines?” It is titled “The development of performances in autistic children in an automatically controlled environment.” Vending machines were used in the study but they were not the focus. Rather, this study was more concerned with coins as generalized reinforcer of children’s performance. I have read the paper three times, and I still don’t know what that means.
Google AI, however, despite not having access to research papers, felt it could make a much stronger statement. It responded, “Some autistic people enjoy vending machines because they offer a predictable transaction with limited choices and can provide sensory experiences or surprises like toys.” And it said, “The process of inserting money and receiving a product is a clear, predictable, and contained transaction, which can be comforting.” I think these statement nicely describe why I loved vending machines. Nonetheless, AI would clearly flunk my classes because it seems to make up scientific findings out of thin air without citing, or even able to identify, specific research studies supporting those statements.
The reason I was curious about autism and vending machines, particularly machines in bathrooms, is because of my experience getting a weird balloon.
One of my favorite restaurants when I was growing up in Pittsburgh was Minutello’s. We went their often. They had a wonderful antipasti salad filled with Italian delicacies, the world’s best marinara sauce, and an exceptionally good pizza. Pittsburgh had a plethora of wonderful pizza places. Each with a very distinctive sauce, crust, and the use of mozzarella cheese.
Minutello’s was in the basement of an old hotel. I think it was a seedy hotel back in the mid-late sixties. But I didn’t care because I loved the place.
There was one of those cool vending machines in the men’s bathroom at Minutello’s. I was at the restaurant with my mother and my brother (seven years older than me) one evening. And, I had a need to engage in a donor-recipient interaction with that vending machine and enjoy my prize of the quick drying towelettes. So, I begged my mom for a quarter. She gave in. So, I excitedly went into the bathroom to claim my prize.
I put my quarter into the slot, turned the handle, and out came a plastic package that looked nothing like towelettes. I was confused, but also optimistic. I mean good things always came out of vending machines those days.
So, I ripped open the package with my 7-year-old hands. The package did not contain towelettes. And the object I removed didn’t look like a toy. It was an ugly color of brown and looked like the weirdest balloon I had ever seen.
Being seven or so years old, and autistic, I had no problem bringing my newfound curiosity back to the table and announcing to my mom and brother (and to the entire restaurant), “Look at this weird balloon!.”
My brother and mother responded with hysterical laughter causing all of the other diners to focus on our table. I had no idea what was going on. I just wanted to know why I got such a weird balloon.
I don’t think my mother or brother actually told me it was a condom that day. I hadn’t had any “birds and bees” conversations yet, so they must have told me some other story or quickly changed the subject. Being autistic, I was pretty gullible. So, they could have said anything, and I have would have quickly gone back to enjoying some of my favorite food.
That was the first time in my life that a vending machine failed me. My relationship with them was never the same after that. It was also my first exposure to a condom. And my reaction to getting a condom for the first time was disappointment and confusion. Perhaps this explains challenges with my sex drive.
Fascinating. I have never considered this before but I actually DO love vending machines. I also love those machines where you put in a coin, turn the wheel, and then get a plastic egg with a prize inside.
You'd have LOVED the Horn and Hardart Automats. To speed service to the masses, they had vending machine WALLS. Endless rows of glass doors in a warming chamber that would unlock, one at a time, when you paid for a meal. The problem was, if your favorite wasn't a crowd pleaser, you had no idea how long you meal sat there. I also have a funny condom/balloon story that can't be repeated here.