Candy casualty

So I had another run in with our candy vending machine today. I won't bore anyone with the details of my bad day but between the needs of our letter writers and the apparent new additions to my job, I needed candy... HAD to have it... and not the chocolate I had on my desk. I grudgingly took a dollar out my purse, upset that I was giving in to to the inflated cost of a pack of Starburst and headed back to the machine.

Of course, the machine never takes my dollar on the first try (after we're done with it, they better never install it in a strip club!), but then when I finally get it in there and hit "D7," it starts making a funky beeping noise.

Would you believe that the inflated-price goods-carrying, dollar-rejecting, loose morals piece of metal had the audacity to demand exact change? After a half dozen tries when I finally realized what was going on, I so wanted to shout, "Exact change yuh mummah!" But I refrained. After all, the associate publisher's office door is right by the machine — a fact that I'm sure makes the machine feel brazen and bold.

So I had to walk up to the cashiers to get the change I needed for the machine. God bless Ms. Rose she made me smile though. I asked for three quarters, two dimes and a nickle and after she gives it to me, she says, "Are you sure that's a dollar?" I had the deer in headlights look for about 10 seconds before I realized she was pulling my leg.

Then it was back to the machine for the Starbursts.

I tell you, next thing you know the machine is going to expect us to reach up inside it to get the damn candy ourselves.

Sad.