Friday, May 01, 2009

A Slave to the Machine

I put five quarters in and expected one pop to come out. But the vending machine upstairs had other ideas. It apparently was under the impression that five quarters in means no pop out. So I kicked it.

I kicked it gooooood.

And nothing happened. Ugh. So I called the number on the front of the vending machine to rant my frustrations, but the nice-ish (read: patronizingly sweet) lady at PepsiCo informed me that I'd have to trudge far and wide to get my five quarters back. Not wanting to subject myself to the 70° sunny weather outside, I opted instead to call my trusty finacĂ© who was also on campus at the time. A rough transcript of our conversation:

Him: Hi Babe.
Me: Hi, the vending machine ate my quarters and my pop.
Him: Addict.
Me: Jerk.
Him: Junkie.
Me: Will you please run over to the Big Building to get me five quarters?
Him: No. I have big manly things to do.
Me: Harumph.

Rachel came to my rescue shortly thereafter, we knocked one pop out with another, and I was able to quench my thirst with a glorious swig of fizziness.

Rachel is my hero. The Boy... not so much today.

1 comment:

cm0978 said...

I love the sweet things you call each other -- ah, young love.....