Work Today
So my coworker and I are at work, thinking "Hey, we should get something to drink. Perhaps a tasty beverage from the vending machine would sate our thirst." We decide to walk out to said vending machine and purchase a Fruit Punch Poweraidtm.
At this point, the reader may be thinking to him or herself:
This story is entirely uninteresting, I'm going to go eat cookies.
It is at this point that fate exerts her supple force upon the events to come and the events that follow are destined to become an epic trill ride through corporate America. My coworker feverishly retrieves a crisp dollar bill from his wallet and tentatively places it within the feeder to purchase his expectant refreshing drink. During this interval we spent several moments discussing the ramifications of computerized vending machines and their effect on the promptness of drink delivery while pondering why with several ho-gillion megaquads of calculations per nanosecond, newer machines are still outperformed by the goliaths of the 1960's in their delivery speed. This naturally led to the a consideration of the surely immeasurable security measures that must have been added. Moments later the familiar "cla-clink" sound of a safely delivered drink was heard, but after a brief investigation, no beverage was to be found in the drink receptacle.
Shocked and dismayed, several forms of physical violence were exacted on the machine before a sad resignation set in. My coworker decided that he would attempt to reach into the unknown chasm that the receptacle's protective door (surely made out of a kevlar-carbon-fiber alloy) led to. Against my fears and warnings his arm returned unharmed, and yet, without prize. The task fell upon me to retrieve the drink that he had rightfully paid for--my unnaturally long arms would finally be put to a use for the good of humanity. It could be said that providence smiled upon us, not once or twice, but four times was I able to retrieve a drink. Alas, of the four, exactly zero were of the desired fruit punch flavor.
Our goals are now to investigate this phenomenon further in the desperate privacy of the dead of night. Further reports (as well as perhaps a more detailed background) will follow here
At this point, the reader may be thinking to him or herself:
This story is entirely uninteresting, I'm going to go eat cookies.
It is at this point that fate exerts her supple force upon the events to come and the events that follow are destined to become an epic trill ride through corporate America. My coworker feverishly retrieves a crisp dollar bill from his wallet and tentatively places it within the feeder to purchase his expectant refreshing drink. During this interval we spent several moments discussing the ramifications of computerized vending machines and their effect on the promptness of drink delivery while pondering why with several ho-gillion megaquads of calculations per nanosecond, newer machines are still outperformed by the goliaths of the 1960's in their delivery speed. This naturally led to the a consideration of the surely immeasurable security measures that must have been added. Moments later the familiar "cla-clink" sound of a safely delivered drink was heard, but after a brief investigation, no beverage was to be found in the drink receptacle.
Shocked and dismayed, several forms of physical violence were exacted on the machine before a sad resignation set in. My coworker decided that he would attempt to reach into the unknown chasm that the receptacle's protective door (surely made out of a kevlar-carbon-fiber alloy) led to. Against my fears and warnings his arm returned unharmed, and yet, without prize. The task fell upon me to retrieve the drink that he had rightfully paid for--my unnaturally long arms would finally be put to a use for the good of humanity. It could be said that providence smiled upon us, not once or twice, but four times was I able to retrieve a drink. Alas, of the four, exactly zero were of the desired fruit punch flavor.
Our goals are now to investigate this phenomenon further in the desperate privacy of the dead of night. Further reports (as well as perhaps a more detailed background) will follow here