Emotionally and economically victimized by a vending machine

One of the determining factors of selecting my choice of two possible classrooms was the eighteen-step distance from the faculty room vending machine. It can actually be reached in fourteen steps if I put forth a modicum of effort. How I rue the day of that fateful decision!

Cardinal rule in vending machine etiquette is:  Don't shake the vending machine. Well...I claim self-defense because that worthless piece of garbage tries to rob me on a daily basis. It's more of a slot-machine than an actual vending machine. You plug in your quarters and hope...watching the spiral snack mechanism slide forward, praying that it relinquishes its metallic hold of your bag of cheesy popcorn. "You know," my friend Amanda said, observing me as I threw myself bodily against the unyielding exterior of the vending machine, "You'd save yourself a lot of trouble (and money) by purchasing a big bag of popcorn and then transferring reasonable snack-sized amounts into baggies." I paused a moment, rubbing my sore shoulder, to stare at her with a mixture of both horror and disdain. Surely she wasn't serious. Mathematically-speaking, if I bought a big bag of popcorn, it would be gone in the same amount of time that it would take to consume my one ounce

bag. And what about the thrill of the hunt? The collaborative team-work when co-workers would come together and jostle that vending machine around like we were lifting a Volkswagen off a pregnant woman?

Which leads us to today. Four quarters in..."C'mon, baby," I whispered, rubbing my palms together hopefully. Nope. Sadly, I trudged eighteen steps to my room for another fistful of change. All I wanted was a popcorn push...a bag bump. I would gladly pay two bucks of Brad Mosiman's hard-earned money for one ounce of cheesy goodness. Wow...this was rare. A two bag back-up. Fortunately, the faculty room was vacant as I railed against the fates...howled about the humanity of it all...and threw myself, again and again, at that blasted machine. Thirty-six steps later, armed with an assortment of dimes and nickles...I was ready to try again. YES...YES...YES...YES!!!       NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The three bags, broken free of their spiral-corded confinement, landed at the base...waiting to be retrieved. I pushed against the little door, only to discover that, like protective sandbags piled to prevent the rising water, my three little bags of popcorn were effectively blocking the threat of enemy invasion.

But as you well know...I will NOT be thwarted! Sure, one bag had to take one for the team...pulverized into tiny popcorn pieces. My friend, Laurie, passed me as I was carrying bags of snack food like so much cordwood, back to my room. She and I had once been unified in a (failed) attempt to dislodge one of Laurie's vending machine hostages so she was very sympathetic. "Well, look on the bright side," she said smiling, "Now you don't have to buy snacks for a few days." I laughed as I walked the eighteen steps back to my room and closed the door,