Frank and the cookie machine

[fbhjr]

Back in the summer of 1976 my mother’s father was dying.
Honestly, it didn’t make much of a difference to me. I didn’t like him, he didn’t like me. We had exactly zero of those grandfather/grandson movements you see in the movies. (He did like my brother, who was named for him instead of named for my father’s father as I was. But, that’s another issue.)

It was decided to get his four children and nine (surviving) grandchildren with spouses and all together for what was known would be his last birthday, just about this time of year.

The kids were not invited to the actual dinner that was to be held in a high end restaurant. Instead my sister (28 at the time) was instructed to bring us to a McDonalds a few miles away. Shoving all 8 of us old enough to walk into my mother’s 9 seater station wagon, we set off. (Due to my sister’s abysmal sense of direction, I navigated.)

By the counter of the McDonalds was a large box. It was about ten feet long, five feet high and five feet deep. It said “Cookie Machine” on the front. There was a delivery slot and a coin slot. One end was up against the wall, the other end was almost entirely a door.
There was a sign on it saying “The Cookie Machine will work from 11-3 & 5-7”.
The intent was you would purchase a wooden coin at the counter for the cost of a box of cookies, put the coin into the machine and out would come a box of cookies.

My sister bought me a coin and I proceeded to get cookies in this method.
Although only 12, there was already little doubt I was going to be an engineer. As the machine delivered my cookies, I closely listened to it.
There was no sound of machines.

I should have left well enough alone. But, I thought I would show my sister how smart I was. My sister was a very literal person and not given to just accepting my conclusions.
“There’s a person in there handing out cookies,” I said to my sister.
“Of course not,” my sister said. “It says machine on it. It is a machine.”
“A machine wouldn’t need to be so large.”
“It needs room to store the cookies.”
“There’s no sound out mechanism.”
“It is well oiled.”
“A machine would not need hours with a lunch break.”
“It would overheat if on continuously. Shutting it down some of the time is why it run so quietly when it is on.”

“A demonstration is needed,” I said.
I took one of my Ronald McDonald cookies, which was just slightly larger than one of the coins and nibbled it until it was the right size.
I walked over to the cookie machine and dropped it in the coin slot while looking up the delivery slot.
A human hand appeared and dropped a box of cookies down the slot.
“It was a human hand!” I told my sister.
“Or, a robotic arm shaped like a human hand,” my sister said.

I chewed another cookie round and dropped it in.
This time when the hand appeared, I reached in and pulled it out.
“SEE! “ I shouted across the McDonalds. “THIS IS A HUMAN BEING!”
There was a lot of shouting and banging from inside the box.
“OK! It is a person!” my sister shouted. “Let go of them!”

At this point, the poor person inside the box had had enough. They pulled my arm into the box.

My brother and my six cousins attacked the box as my sister shouted at them in increasing levels for them to stop.

Eventually the person inside the machine released me and my sister drove us all out to the parking lot and into the car.
She says she had never received dirtier looks in a McDonalds before.

In the many years since that day, I have regretted my actions.
Of all the McDonalds I’ve been to since I have only seen 1 other Cookie Machine and I stayed well clear. Several years later, when I finally dared to go back to that one, I found the machine long gone.
I was quite happy that when my time came to work for Ronald, cookie machines were not around.

Comments

[ravena-kade.livejournal.com]

I love this story

[palusbuteo.livejournal.com]

0_0

I don't recall hearing this story before.

Wow. I mean, WOW.

I don't remember cookie machines at McDonalds. I would have thought that was some awesome.
Even if I did figure out it was a person, I probably would have still been thrilled to get a box of cookies
for a wooden coin.

Although in a similar vein with your analysis as I am with Slight-of-Hand magic tricks.
I really enjoy those tricks, and enjoy learning how they work. It had never seemed to spoil the illusion
when I knew the secret, in some ways/tricks, knowing how it worked even enhanced the trick the next
time I saw it. This is the same thing with Movies and Special Effects, Bloopers, Easter Eggs, which I also love seeing/learning about
and the next time I see the movie/scene, I can appreciate the work that went into making the illusion.

But the closest I came to getting my hand caught in the cookie machine was accusing a Santa of being a Phony
and pulling on his beard to prove my point, which caused a little bit of a scene. My dad was more upset at my
physically harming the Santa and less on me drawing attention or realizing the Santa hoax.

[pallid-regina.livejournal.com]

“A machine would not need hours with a lunch break.”

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

What an amazing story. And that poor, freaked out person in the box. Wow.

[evrgreen.livejournal.com]

This may simply be, one of the very best "Frank as a child" stories yet!!!

[cissa.livejournal.com]

EXCELLENT story!