Feeding the Machine for the Ultimate Trinket

Thirty dollars in quarters doesn't look like much, but the paper-wrapped rolls -- three of them -- had a pleasing heft as I walked into the supermarket one recent afternoon.

I wasn't alone. With me were three 7-year-olds: Tyrie Hendrix , Fiona MacNairn and Susana Perez . We were on a quest.

Have you seen that movie "Ocean's Eleven," where 11 crooks try to knock over a bunch of Las Vegas casinos? We were "Kelly's Four" and our target was much simpler: a vending machine at the Giant on Arliss Road in Silver Spring.

There is a bank of the machines near the checkout lanes. Anyone between ages 4 and 11 knows about them. So does anyone who's ever gone shopping with anyone between ages 4 and 11.

The machines brim with wondrous objects. There's candy, of course, but also bracelets, necklaces, rings, key chains, figurines, stickers, temporary tattoos, goofy teeth, spinning tops, hemp anklets and just about any other novelty that can be mass produced in some far-off land. Each item is contained in a plastic capsule -- a tiny helping of happiness that can be yours for just a quarter or two.

It's a slot machine for kids, guaranteed to pay off every time.

Tyrie is an expert on these machines. On shopping trips with Mom or Dad she unfailingly requests an advance on her inheritance so she may invest in a piece of cheap tat. But Tyrie had noticed something: What comes hurtling down the chute often bears no resemblance to what is advertised on the outside of the machine.

And so to that well-known childhood query -- how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? -- we must add another: How many quarters must you feed into the supermarket vending machine before you get the purple plastic motion ring?

"Super bright, Light up, Flashes when you move & dance!"

Armed with $30 of Washington Post expense account money, that's what we were determined to find out. Surely that would be enough to fulfill every child's fantasy of completely emptying one of the vending machines.

The Holy Grail of the machine we chose was the aforementioned motion ring, a blinking piece of jewelry worth, according to the sign touting the wares inside, $2.99. Tellingly, the sign also said: "Other quality items included."

Tyrie put two quarters in the slot and turned the handle. There was a clunk, and when she lifted the metal door, a clear plastic acorn fell into her outstretched palm. Inside was a T-shaped piece of polymer that, upon further inspection, we decided was a spinning top.