There is a place of calm, a place of order in the Courts of Chaos: the Automat. I will tell you what I know about it.
There are three elevators that will take you to the Automat. As you exit one of the elevators, you enter a rectangular atrium of sorts. The restrooms are located here, the mens’ room to the left, the ladies’ room to the right. There is a skylight, and there are some thriving potted plants. There is a courtesy phone, and there are a couple of benches for people who are waiting to meet someone before proceeding inside.
Keep moving forward down a short hall, and you will see the cashier’s kiosk. The cashier is an older, white haired man in a navy blue service uniform. His name is Phil. He will exchange your paper money for the tokens used in the Automat. He will also buy back tokens you wish to surrender before leaving, as they do not work in any other device, and so are otherwise valueless.
Turn to your left, and walk to the tray station. Clean trays are stacked on a counter, along with napkins, plastic cutlery, and single servings of most common condiments. Turn back to your right, so that you are facing the “north” end of the Automat.
Here is what you see:
On the west wall, are 254 small doors. Each door has a glass window in it, and each door has a metal plate inset next to it. The metal plate has a token slot, and a small steel knob.
Behind each door, is a food item. There is something of a structure to the food items and the doors. For example, the salads are all grouped together in one section, as are the sandwiches. There are doors equipped with heat elements, behind which hot foods can be found. The doors furthest from the tray station contain dessert items.
It’s like this: you insert a token into the desired item’s door slot, and you give the metal knob a clockwise twist. The door pops open, so that you can extract the food behind it. Then, you shut the door so that the latch snaps closed. Most of the patrons follow the protocol, but once an hour, Phil makes a brief migration from his kiosk to walk along the wall and shut any doors which have been left ajar.
The north wall is lined with beverage vending machines. These vending machines do not produce cans and bottles. Beverages are fastidiously sprayed into paper cups from the machine’s inner nozzle; the machine produces both the cup and the beverage as part of it’s operation. A surprising number of hot and cold beverages are available from the myriad of machines along the wall.
In the northwest corner of the Automat, there is a tray bussing station. It consists of a conveyor belt that patrons place their used trays on. The conveyor belt pulls the trays through a flanged rubber curtain, into the Automat’s inner sanctum.
There are tables and chairs. There are booths. There are counters with tall stools. You can eat alone, or you can join a group of twenty without feeling inappropriate.
The east wall consists almost entirely of large plate glass windows. The windows offer a view of a busy downtown street, with men in suits and hats, and women in dresses and hats, and boys and girls on bicycles. There are cars, but there is no discernible traffic noise. The cars cruise past like silent sharks, and the buses drift past like humpback whales filled with any number of symbolic Jonahs in their bellies. There is no sound from the outside whatsoever.
The Automat offers its patrons the ability to exchange energy for energy, without the dread monotonous drone of negotiation.
That isn’t to say that deals are not struck in the Automat. They are, of every type, of momentous and trivial importance. But, that is not the Automat’s purpose. It exists to nourish those who need a place of order, if only for a brief time, to sustain themselves before stepping back into the fray.