As I approached the break room I noticed how quiet it was. Too quiet in fact. Suddenly the hairs on my arms stood at attention. I can't lie, I was tense. Very tense. Something wasn't right. A feeling of dread came over me. I must have felt like one of the kids in the original Friday The 13 just before Jason offed them. Yes, I was that scared.
I entered the break room cautiously, my eyes sweeping the entire room for signs of trouble. THERE IT IS! I knew it; something HAD gone horribly wrong here. Horribly, horribly wrong!
The snack machine was wounded and perhaps dead. Its plexiglass window from where I normally viewed the delicious, yet fattening treats was gone. Not just gone, ripped from its very foundation. Suddenly from the corner of my eye I spotted the window. Yes, it was true; it had been removed by force, that much was obvious.
My attention turned back to the once proud dispenser of snacks. It was emtpy. The kind of empty that makes an Ethiopian look well fed. Someone had eviscerated the snack machine of its tasty guts. But who, who would do such a thing?
Deep down I knew it was one of the fat bitches. Which one though? The one with the mole on her cheek the size of Mount Pinatubo? No, she was a fatty but too mild mannered to do something like this. Maybe it was the one who always dressed in white and who covered herself in cheap gold jewelry. Yes, it could be her. She was one of the fatties complaining about the hike in prices. Still, there were other suspects. The Elvis worshiper, the fatass from accounting, the lardo with one eye(though her lack of depth perception made me not suspect her as much), the mullet wearing lesbian. Yes, the lesbian was a prime suspect. She was the one complaining the most. The one on a "fixed income" who could no longer afford the candy. One final suspect had to be the gigantoid who drove the mid 70's Ford LTD. Yes, she was that big. So big that no modern car could hold her. She was always angry; apparently fat makes people angry, and would be just the type to go Jack The Ripper on an innocent vending machine.
There I stood, surrounded by the stench of death. What do I do? Surely someone else has noticed this and alerted the authorities. Dare I get involved? There I stood. Money in hand. I had come for a Nutra Grain bar, but I would not get it. Instead all I was getting was the horror of the foul deed that had been done. What now? Do I back out of the room slowly and pretend I never saw this? Do I call a security guard? The vending machines next of kin? Who?
Shamefully I decided to take the coward?s way out. I was leaving this scene of destruction. I didn't want to get involved. Not today. I had too much to do. Yeah, that's it. Too much to do. I couldn't get involved, it would be too stressful and I was already busy enough. Sure some may call me a coward, but I'm a coward who will live to flood a bathroom another day.
Please join me in a moment of silence for the loss of a vending machine. A machine who gave nothing but joy and who was taken from us far too early. Amen, Shalom, Wikki Wikki Wikki, etc, etc.....
I entered the break room cautiously, my eyes sweeping the entire room for signs of trouble. THERE IT IS! I knew it; something HAD gone horribly wrong here. Horribly, horribly wrong!
The snack machine was wounded and perhaps dead. Its plexiglass window from where I normally viewed the delicious, yet fattening treats was gone. Not just gone, ripped from its very foundation. Suddenly from the corner of my eye I spotted the window. Yes, it was true; it had been removed by force, that much was obvious.
My attention turned back to the once proud dispenser of snacks. It was emtpy. The kind of empty that makes an Ethiopian look well fed. Someone had eviscerated the snack machine of its tasty guts. But who, who would do such a thing?
Deep down I knew it was one of the fat bitches. Which one though? The one with the mole on her cheek the size of Mount Pinatubo? No, she was a fatty but too mild mannered to do something like this. Maybe it was the one who always dressed in white and who covered herself in cheap gold jewelry. Yes, it could be her. She was one of the fatties complaining about the hike in prices. Still, there were other suspects. The Elvis worshiper, the fatass from accounting, the lardo with one eye(though her lack of depth perception made me not suspect her as much), the mullet wearing lesbian. Yes, the lesbian was a prime suspect. She was the one complaining the most. The one on a "fixed income" who could no longer afford the candy. One final suspect had to be the gigantoid who drove the mid 70's Ford LTD. Yes, she was that big. So big that no modern car could hold her. She was always angry; apparently fat makes people angry, and would be just the type to go Jack The Ripper on an innocent vending machine.
There I stood, surrounded by the stench of death. What do I do? Surely someone else has noticed this and alerted the authorities. Dare I get involved? There I stood. Money in hand. I had come for a Nutra Grain bar, but I would not get it. Instead all I was getting was the horror of the foul deed that had been done. What now? Do I back out of the room slowly and pretend I never saw this? Do I call a security guard? The vending machines next of kin? Who?
Shamefully I decided to take the coward?s way out. I was leaving this scene of destruction. I didn't want to get involved. Not today. I had too much to do. Yeah, that's it. Too much to do. I couldn't get involved, it would be too stressful and I was already busy enough. Sure some may call me a coward, but I'm a coward who will live to flood a bathroom another day.
Please join me in a moment of silence for the loss of a vending machine. A machine who gave nothing but joy and who was taken from us far too early. Amen, Shalom, Wikki Wikki Wikki, etc, etc.....
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