Short Story: The Whimsical God and the Corn Potage

A small god lives in the vending machine at the office.

However, this god must be extremely nearsighted, or perhaps just a mischievous prankster.

“...Again?”

2:00 AM. In the empty break room, I slumped to my knees.

What rolled into the retrieval slot was not the “Sharp Awakening! Extra Caffeine Black Coffee” I had been craving.

It was a somewhat goofy-looking yellow can: “Creamy Rich Corn Potage.”

This is the third time this month. I didn't press the wrong button. This vending machine has an unnecessary feature—a bug—that rewrites the menu on its own whenever my fatigue reaches its peak.

I clutched the warm can and returned to my desk.

On my monitor, the presentation materials for tomorrow were spread out.

The client's request was for “perfect flow design.”

As an architectural designer, I had proposed straight lines drawn with a ruler, efficient space, and a sophisticated office in black and white.

But something was missing.

My manager told me, “Your drawings are beautiful, but they’re suffocating.” Perfect, yet suffocating? I don't understand. Isn't efficiency the ultimate virtue?

I pulled the tab.

With a lackluster pop, the sweet scent of corn drifted through the air.

It was the scent least suited to my stylish desk.

I took a sip.

...It’s sweet.

And, as much as I hate to admit it, it’s warm.

The thick liquid slid down my throat and settled into my chilled stomach. I could feel that warmth gently untying the knots of my frayed nerves.

The rising steam changes shape vaguely as it catches the light of the fluorescent lamp.

Whether from fatigue or hallucination, it looked like a child wearing a star-patterned kimono and holding a sun staff.

Sticking out a tongue, the small phantom laughed, saying, "It's boring to just do calculations."

The temperature of this sweet soup might be the very heat of the sunlight that staff emits.

Suddenly, I notice myself tapping the bottom of the can to get the remaining corn kernels out.

I hold the can vertically and tap the bottom hard. Clang, clang, the hollow sound echoes.

It won't come out. A single kernel of corn is caught on the rim at a calculated angle and won't come out.

"...Inefficient."

The moment I was about to click my tongue,

that figure was reflected in the black screen of the monitor.

What a clumsy, human-like figure it was.

"...Ah."

I gripped the mouse.

Perfect flow. Shortest distance. Efficiency.

Those things should be left to robots.

Humans are creatures that take detours. When tired, they stop, drink something sweet, make small talk, and start walking again. That "stagnation" is exactly what is needed in places where people gather.

I intentionally created "wasted space" on the main street of the blueprint.

I changed straight lines into curves and set up alcoves that one cannot pass through.

A place where people gather, gazes meet, and they get caught like corn kernels.

That is the enemy of efficiency. But, without a doubt, it was the true nature of "comfort."

By the time I finished the revisions, the sky outside the window was beginning to turn white.

The blueprints were more cluttered than before. Yet, strangely, they had become something that felt warm to the touch.

I tossed the empty yellow can into the trash bin.

It made a pleasant clanging sound.

I looked toward the breakroom. Perhaps that clunky god had realized my blueprints lacked a bit of 'play' and had sent this sweet soup my way.

In the morning,

“...Is cocoa next? Go easy on me.”

I gave a wry smile as I tightened my tie.

My steps toward the presentation felt much lighter than they ever did after a dose of caffeine.