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South Africans are probably a little more superstitious than average on average, given that witchcraft and sorcery and magic are very real for a significant part of our population. But it’s not just out in the rural boondocks that you’ll find this to be true. Any reasonably sized urban mall will provide proof that we believe in things beyond the ken of science.

A reasonably large mall, you see, is likely to come with paid parking (which has its own perils). Most of these have self-service payment points scattered about the place rather than human cashiers at the exit. And every single last one of these vending machines will be defaced by scratches that range from barely-dented-the-paint to ruts so deep they threaten the structural integrity of the whole thing.

Any time a vending machine refuses a coin, eight out of ten South Africans will vigourously rub that coin against the machine before trying it again. And again. Some will continue, rubbing ever more vigourously, for five or six repeats before giving up and fishing out an alternative coin.

Why? Because sometimes it works – or at least seems to work. Perhaps it is just a change in the orientation of the coin or the force with which it is inserted the second or third time. Maybe the rubbing actually raises the temperature of the coin sufficiently that it expands just enough to be passed as authentic by the machine’s mechanism, although that seems highly unlikely.

We would look to the psychological rather than the mechanical for motivation, however. There is an element of aggression and the pleasure of doing violence to the recalcitrant machine, but not so much violence as to be held responsible for an act of vandalism. There is an element of theatre, aimed at those impatiently waiting in the line behind, showing that every attempt is being made to rectify the problem and allow everyone to be on their way swiftly. There is also sheer force of habit.

Even so, that person rubbing a coin on a metal surface to somehow transform it is almost certainly the driver of a car. A driver is, by default, literate, or else would not be able to obtain a licence. The SA education system is in dire trouble, but we do still provide a modicum of scientific teaching to everybody who passes through the doors of a school. A rational person knows that, statistically, their time would be better spent reinserting the coin without the rubbing, or just using a different piece of currency. An educated person would verbally apologise to those in the queue behind, as this is a far better way to defuse embarrassment at causing them some slight inconvenience. An aggravated person would kick the machine at just above ground level, where security cameras are unlikely to pick up the satisfying dent a well-shoed foot can make.

Yet we rub coins, and nothing short of the extinction of the coin seems likely to make us stop.

So if you see these strange markings on vending machines, don’t fret. They aren’t an indication that you are in a bad part of town and they aren’t some sort of gang-related territorial marking. It’s just a sign that South Africans are somewhat eccentric.