FIFO worker, Madaya Kennedy, shares about her life-changing decision to buy a vending machine…
Standing on the edge of a massive open-cut pit in rural Queensland, I climbed into the cab of a drill.
Then the heavens opened.
Rain hammered the red dirt, turning the site into a slick, dangerous mess.
Well, that’s us done for the day, I thought.
Operations shut down the moment the rain hit. It was too risky to continue.
At 21, I’d thrown myself into the mining world. It wasn’t where I’d imagined ending up, but with a $100,000 salary and no clear career path, I grabbed the opportunity with both hands.
And with that hefty pay cheque came freedom.
Over the next few years, I went everywhere – skiing in Norway, diving with stingrays in Türkiye, chasing sunsets across the dunes of Dubai. There were girls’ trips to Bali and solo hikes through Tasmania. Even while sitting in a drill rig, I was always planning my next adventure.
Then one day on site, I watched a mate wander over to the dusty vending machine in the corner and peer inside.
“Can you believe this thing is still out?” he muttered.
“Shocking,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
On a remote site, something as simple as a chocolate bar or packet of chips feels like a luxury. But this machine had been broken for over a year – just sitting there, mocking us.
Then it hit me.
Why don’t I get a vending machine?
Read more: My backyard was hiding a money making secret!
I’d always loved the idea of being a businesswoman, so I started researching and crunching the numbers. The machine would cost just over $7500, plus $1200 shipping and then the stock on top of that.
Once I had a plan, I approached the site boss for permission.
“I’ll make sure your favourite snacks are in there,” I said, sweetening the deal.
Supportive, he put forward my proposal, and the moment I got approval, I went all in.
I organised public liability insurance, tracked shipping updates on my phone, and started asking around for snack requests. Chips, Coke, energy drinks, chocolates – I was shopping for a crew of very hungry men.
When the vending machine arrived on site, I could barely contain my excitement.
Luckily, I lived close enough to drive in, so I packed my boot full of stock and delivered it myself.
Unlocking the machine, I carefully filled each slot.
Almost instantly, morale lifted.
“Can you get beef jerky next time?” one of the guys asked.
“Of course. Anyone else want anything?” I called out.
I couldn’t help but laugh. I felt like their sugar daddy.
I’d hoped to make around $500 a week – enough to cover stock and maybe earn a little extra.
But at the end of the machine’s very first day, I opened it up and stared in disbelief. The rows were nearly empty.
After counting up sales, I realised I’d made well over $500… in a single shift.
From there, the business exploded.
Some months, I was making up to $5500 in sales. I’d do a full restock at the start of my swing, then top it up throughout the week depending on demand.
During breaks, I loved watching my colleagues grab snacks, knowing I was boosting morale while quietly doubling my income.
Maybe London next year, I’d think, already planning my next trip.
One day, I filmed myself loading my car with stock and posted it to my private social media. I didn’t think much of it… until it went viral. Thousands of people around the world watched it.
How did you do this? comments flooded in.
As I shared more about my vending machine success, people kept asking me to teach them. So I decided to write a book – The Vending Machine Blueprint – laying out everything I’d learned.
But just as things were taking off, my health took priority.
I’d suffered painful periods since I was young and was referred for surgery when doctors suspected endometriosis. Some days, I was curled up in bed vomiting in agony.
Operating heavy machinery became a serious safety risk, and I had to leave site multiple times.
When I returned, I was met with scepticism.
“Anyone can get a medical certificate these days,” one male colleague muttered.
I felt humiliated – like I had to suffer in silence in a boys’ club.
Then one day, a female colleague confided in me.
“I’ve had surgery for endometriosis,” she admitted. She’d been suffering in silence as well.
Around that time, I met my incredible partner, Jack, at a business event. We bonded instantly over our shared love of travel and entrepreneurship.
During one of his ventures, he ordered a slim rechargeable heat band. Discreet enough to slip under my clothes, it eased my pain without drawing attention.
“That is perfect,” I said, inspecting it.
That’s when another idea struck.
Using the money from my vending machine business, I invested in a new venture – Soleara.
I trialled designs for heat bands and handed samples out to the four other women on site.
“This is amazing,” one said.
At one point, a guy even borrowed mine for his sore back, with no idea what it was actually designed for.
We laughed, but it made me realise something important.
So many women are hiding their pain.
Now, my mission is to change that. What started as a snack side hustle is now funding something much bigger – a movement supporting women, not just in male-dominated industries, but everywhere.
I used to spend my money travelling the world. Now, I’m using it to change it.
I’m no longer just a girl in a man’s world – I’m a woman building a better one.
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