I like to think I’m a reasonable man.
I mean, sure, I’m not, actually, but I certainly like to think so. And in this case, I think I’m being more than fair.
See, I’m not complaining that when the soda machine here at the office runs out of Pepsi, no one fills it for a week or more.
And I’m not bitching about the fact that when I find out that the machine is empty, and press the ‘Money Return’ lever, my dollar and a quarter turns into five quarters, and I have to spend the rest of the day dealing with ‘jangly britches’, as the change tumbles to and fro in my pockets.
I won’t even get hot and bothered about the fact that the ‘Sold Out’ signs on the machine — assuming the damned things even exist — are burnt out, and that it’s impossible to determine what’s actually inside the machine without plugging it with money.
(Unless perhaps you have a buzz saw handy, which this machine is making me seriously consider as my next Home Depot purchase.)
Nor am I even going to rail about the fact that when the machine runs out of said quarters, because we poor, ignorant saps keep trying to get our daily doses of caffeine, the machine doesn’t return anything — not the single quarter, not the dollar, not one red damned cent whatsoever.
No, friends, I’m going to keep my mouth shut about all of that, which, as I said before, I like to think makes me quite reasonable.
But I’m going to draw the line, and call the machine a big flubber-humping, ass-diddling pork-jobber, because the damned thing is still out of friggin’ Pepsi, now nine days later, and if I want something to drink to keep me awake this afternoon, I’ve got three choices:
1) Freeze my rosy asscheeks off walking to the next building where I can buy a Pepsi from the convenience store guy
B) Break down and use my hard-earned buck and a quarter on a nasty Mountain Dew, and live with the taste of citrus-flavored battery acid in my mouth all day
iii) Go back to my office and guzzle the bottle of shit that’s used to clean whiteboards, hoping that it’ll give me a buzz and keep me awake, rather than dropping me into a foamy-mouthed coma on the spot
Shit. Given the negative-twenty degree wind chill outside, and the fact that I know how bad the Mountain Dew’s gonna be (no offense, DewNut — and hey, if I can’t stand the stuff, that’s just more for you), I’m leaning toward door number three. But maybe I’ll stick a toe outside and see how cold it really is out there. If the piggie doesn’t come back frostbitten and black, maybe I’ll bundle up and make a trek out to the convenience store. It’s either that or the cleaning fluid — neither of these are good options, folks. How the hell am I supposed to pretend to work under these conditions?!?Permalink | 2 Comments