Strangers,
Jewelry, caviar, even blue jeans—depending on where you live, you can buy just about anything from a vending machine. Whether you drop in a few quarters or tap your cell phone on a scanner, impulse buys await in our world of endless convenience.
And the vending machines of the 21st century are marketed on an ability to individualize—to tailor-make your own product, your soda or pizza or coffee, perfectly made for you and your social media feed.
In a world where you can customi-make a concoction from 125 flavors of Coke Freestyle, there’s something downright charming about a vending machine from the 1970s or 80s. Boxy, square design—maybe some wood paneling, or dinged-up metal siding.
Big, scratched buttons offering four or six flavors. Often without an option to insert dollars. So you put in two quarters, and you might get a New Coke. Or a Tab. Or a Wild Cherry Pepsi, ice cold.
In Seattle, Washington, there was such a machine—not unique in its age, but perhaps in its circumstances. Since at least the mid-1990s, a lone soda machine had stood on East John Street, in the Capitol Hill neighborhood.
It sat on the edge of the sidewalk, backed up against the ramp to Broadway Locksmith, edged on either side by a thin strip of grass.
It seems that the machine sat as grunge blossomed, through the turn of a new century. It offered ice-cold cans of soda in an unlikely spot, ate dollar bills, and accumulated graffiti that was occasionally wiped clean.
Nothing worth writing a dozen or so articles about. . . except for one strange thing.
In 2014, press outlets became aware of something neighborhood residents had known for decades: though the soda machine on East John Street was always stocked and promptly repaired, no one was sure who owned it, or who filled it with merchandise, or when.
Although the machine ran off electricity from the locksmith’s shop, the owners always insisted they had nothing to do with it. The Seattle Times checked in 2014, and were told there was no ownership paperwork on file with the city.
And from the mid 90s until 2014, there was another oddity: two of the six buttons were marked “Mystery,” in a paper-cut-out font, with big question marks.
Some locals said there had only been one mystery button in the 1990s, and the second hadn’t appeared until the 21st century—but they mostly agreed:. When you pressed those mystery buttons, you were in for a surprise.
According to outlets like Vice, The Seattle Times, and Curbed, they dispensed unusual drinks—limited edition, hard to find, or even discontinued sodas.
There were regional favorites, too—and not necessarily from the Pacific Northwest. On Reddit, users reported receiving everything from Pineapple Fanta and Cheerwine to Raspberry Nestea. Others had heard of people getting long-discontinued Crystal Pepsi.
Blogger Karl Smallwood wrote that customers had received cans of bubble-gum flavored Diet Hubba Bubba or Pepsi AM—-a product discontinued in 1990. Where were these hard-to-come-by soft drinks coming from, and who was going to the trouble of getting them?
The odd buttons, the unclear ownership, the obscure brands—it was enough to make the vending machine a local landmark. Either called the Mystery Soda Machine or the Haunted Soda Machine, it whirred away for decades, entertaining locals who idly guessed at who owned it, or maintained it, or—less seriously—whether it was magically replenishing itself.
The locksmith’s store continued to claim ignorance. Locals here or there would say they’d seen a truck pull up, in the early hours of morning, to stock the mystery machine—but no real proof materialized.
Over the years, the price of drinks went up—from 50 cents to 75—but other than the addition of a padlock, the Mystery Soda Machine remained unchanged.
But as tech and start-up culture changed the feel and look of Seattle, so social media shifted the narrative of the Mystery Soda Machine. A seemingly official Facebook page popped up around 2011, and there was a Twitter account, too.
Digital news followed—maybe journalists were tracking Reddit posts, or looking for local feature stories they could expand on. Sometime in 2014, Vice picked up the story—leaning heavily on the ‘haunted’ angle—and a half-dozen more articles followed.
Then there was a short documentary, and a Buzzfeed spot, and then the Mystery Soda Machine was famous. . . maybe to the detriment of its own legend.
Amidst this heightened exposure, the two “mystery” buttons became six. Customers could no longer choose a Coke, or a Sprite, or god forbid, a Pepsi. Unless they wanted to bring a few rolls of quarters, they’d have to be content with what fate dealt.
And some weren’t happy. They wanted the option to choose their flavors. And according to various Seattle Reddit threads, the Mystery Soda Machine was suspected of buying into its own hype.
Even so, it became a fixture on Instagram, where scores of smiling visitors—and locals—posted their faces next to those six buttons, holding up cans of Hawaiian Punch or Fresca.
Eventually, Seattle imposed a soda tax, and the price rose again, to a dollar.
In the years that followed, the legend was spoiled—a little—when pictures of a couple filling the machine began to circulate. Then there was a photo of a different man, shot from above, stocking the machine, too. And then more speculation, this time about the locksmith’s shop, again. They had to be involved, right?
By the early summer of 2018, the Mystery Soda Machine was in danger of losing its, well, mystery. So, it pulled off one final trick.
It disappeared.
According to The Seattle Times, the machine vanished sometime between late Friday night on June 17th, and early morning on June 18th. In its place, there was a note “wrapped around a metal pipe in front of the locksmith shop where the machine has stood for at least 20 years.” It read: “Went for a walk.”
When baffled fans checked Facebook, they saw another message on the Mystery Soda Machine’s page: “Going for a walk, need to find myself. Maybe take a shower even.”
When Seattle Times reporters contacted the owners of Broadway Locksmith—which was closed on weekends—they said that they hadn’t heard about the disappearance. One worker told reporter Paige Cornwell that the machine was “wired in” and would be “difficult to move.”
Soon, pictures appeared on Facebook: the Mystery Soda Machine photoshopped into all kinds of scenes. From a trip to the Space Needle to a romp in the forest, the vending machine was living its best life—but there were no hints as to why exactly it had disappeared, or when it would be back.
There were certainly theories. Writer Karl Smallwood reported that, in the weeks before its disappearance, the machine had been broken—it was taking quarters but not dispensing drinks.
Reddit users pointed toward the photos of covert restockings, and claimed a reporter had staked out the site for a few days, hoping for a scoop. So maybe the whole thing just wasn’t fun anymore.
When One Strange Thing took a look through Google Earth photos of the locksmith’s shop, we noticed something else: at one point after its disappearance, the sidewalk where the Mystery Soda Machine once sat has been torn out. So, there had been major construction that would have necessitated the move.
But with that over, why hasn’t the machine returned?
Maybe the pressure of fame was too much. Maybe it became more difficult to acquire cans of rare soda, or too hard to maintain their supply. Perhaps all of the people bent on exposing the truth had spoiled its fun.
But maybe there is light at the end of the carbonated tunnel. Because after nearly a year of silence, the Mystery Soda Machine has recently posted on its Facebook page.
On October 19th, 2020, the following update appeared: Maybe I should make my way home. But I’m not so sure I want to be touched.
It seems that even possibly supernatural machines have had a difficult year. But fans were ecstatic to receive this communique. The comments poured in quickly.
At least 35 long-time followers chimed in with their support. Everyone was encouraging, with comments like:
COME HOME. We’ll respect your privacy.
You’re the hero we need but don’t deserve.
Come home. We promise to use gloves!
There’s a change shortage, and nobody’s got any!
Home is where the heart soda is.
And perhaps our favorite: Mystery Soda Machine goes walkabout, and the world starts falling apart. Coincidence?
Perhaps the fans are right, and it’s time that the soda machine makes its way home. Maybe, to cap off 2020, we can all promise not to try and spoil the fun, and just let the mystery ride.
We hope you’ll join us next time for another real-life story from the fine print of America’s local papers—from the lives of regular people, just like you and me —except for one, strange thing.
If you enjoyed this, be sure to check out the podcast; we release episodes twice a month, with two additional premium episodes available every month on Patreon and Apple Podcasts. You can find the podcast on Apple, Spotify, Amazon Music, or anywhere you listen to podcasts.
We first wrote this piece in 2020—for our sixth episode. According to our friends on the internet, the soda machine has appeared in one photo since then (in 2022); the mystery continues.