“Morning Jerry,” I hear from across the room.
“Morning Kim,” I reply, turning my head slightly to look at her, just to be polite. I turn back to the vending machine just in time to see the end of the string that my quarter is attached to disappear into the coin slot. “Dangit Kim,” I think to myself as I press the change return button. I’ve dropped coins in by accident before. It’s no big deal. I wait for a few seconds for the quarter to drop into the change slot, but nothing happens.
…….
I press it again. Again, nothing. I continue to push the button again and again to no avail, growing more frantic with each press. My coworkers slowly make their way out of the break room and back to their desks, knowing where this is going. I pay them no mind. They don’t matter right now. I just want my gosh darn quarter.
Eventually I give up my diplomatic approach and lunge at stupid box. I punch and kick at it, not caring that its little circuit board of a brain is too stupid to realize the crime it has just committed against me. A slew curses of all sorts flows from my mouth as I grab the machine and shake it.
Then I stop. Under the noise of all the drinks and chips falling in the machine I hear a faint jingling. I tip it slowly to the right; I hear more jingling. I tip it slowly to the left: nothing. I tip it back to the right, lean it against the wall, then I go to its left side and kick as hard as I can. I hear a clink.
I walk to the front of the machine, and there, in the change slot, is good ol’ George Washington looking back at me, string and all. Relieved, I grab it and try to take it back, but my hand can only take it a few inches before it stops.
My string...is stuck...in the machine. Heheh. Hahaha. “HehehahehaAAAAAAAAAHH!” Screaming, I yank on the quarter as hard as I possibly can. I free my string from whatever mechanisms it was entangled in, and I fall backward onto the floor. I hear a thunk from inside the machine, and before I know it, my feet are buried in change. I haven’t seen this much money in hours!
My pockets now full of money, I take a root beer from the pile of snacks in the machine and take a seat at the break room table, feeling like nothing could go wrong for me now. My boss walks in and sits down next to me. I love this guy. He gives me a page from his newspaper. How considerate! But what am I supposed to do with the want ads?