My job rules. The building it’s in, doesn’t rule. Right now they’re redoing the 2nd floor, which is where the company is located. There are no bathrooms so you have to take the elevator up or down one floor if you want to get to one. There is a layer of plastic wrap over all the carpets, and pieces of drywall and cement rubble are always flying around. That sounds bad enough, but there’s more. Directly below the office where I work there is a karaoke bar, I’m talking right underneath us. Yeah, it blows.

So I was at work last week and started getting a little hungry, which was a mistake in the first place. Never get hungry when your only option is to use a vending machine. I went downstairs and looked at my choices: a bunch of old greasy bags of potato chips, some rotting ho-ho’s, a few of those nasty health bars, and animal crackers. Since I like eating animals in any form, I inserted a dollar and pressed the corresponding letter/number combination.

“Use change when lit”

O…kay, I’ve got some change, but only about 50 cents, which isn’t enough for animal crackers. I press the money return and nothing happens. Press it again. So I put in my 50 cents and select the chips. Still no dollar. I press it 12 more times and nothing happens. “Give me my dollar back you piece of junk!” I yelled. At this point, any normal person would probably start bashing the heck out of a vending machine that stole their money. Hey… would you expect any less of me?

But alas, the hunk of junk didn’t succumb to my flying fists of fury, several jumpkicks, or even a power thrust right to the glass. A pad of paper was stuck into the top with information on getting a refund if the machine acted up. I took a slip, but then realized something: when a vending machine steals your money, it’s enough to piss you off, but not enough to warrant going through all the trouble of getting a measly dollar mailed to you.

Vending machines are evil. Never trust them; they’ll only leave you feeling empty inside. Literally. Stupid piece…