The fury of inanimate objects

The vending machine at work hates me (I know, Fiona, we don't use that work around here either). Either that or it's simply suffering from a peculiarly mechanical form of schizophrenia. Let's look at the evidence shall we?

I put in in my 40p and politely ask if for a bag of mini-chedders (I've been having serious hankerings for mini-chedders lately. No idea why). It's spits back 35p at me, telling me that it will only accept exactly change only.

But look, I beg before it, I gave you exact change - can I have my mini-chedders? The vending machine merely looks at me and laughs a cold hollow laugh. It also refuses to give me back the remaining 35p (it has no change you see).

I walk away disheartened and mini-chedderless.

Days pass, and my desire for mini-chedders only increase. Eventually I cave in to my cravings and decide to venture forth and make one more stand against the nefarious vending machine. I only have a pound in my pocket, but given that it merely shrugged off my last attempt to assuage it with exact change I figure that I have little to lose.

I was wrong. I had 3p to lose.

The vending machine took my pound, and returned to me 97p in pennies and no mini-chedders, once more railing at me that I must supply it with exact change only. But I'm on to it now. Little does the infernal device realise that in it's attempts to drive me away, it has made the mistake of supplying me with exact change!

Clink. In goes one penny. Clink in goes another. Rinse and repeat another 35 times then, with great trepidation, press the button for mini-chedders and... wait, my advances have not been rebuffed - there it goes, the spiral arm is twisting, the hallowed pack of mini-chedders is edging slowly to the end... the hallowed pack of mini-chedders gets stuck and the end and refuses to fall.

You have got to be kidding me. Why, I rage against the machine, why? What did I ever do to you? I give you my money and you give me nothing but grief! Please, one bag of mini-chedders, is that too much to ask?

The vending machine says nothing but looks unaccountably smug.

My mini-chedders dangle tantalisingly in front of me.

Ordinarily, I'm not one to resort to acts of violence, and in my defence, violence wasn't quite what I had in mind. Obviously, the mini-chedders would only need the slightest distubance to dislodge them from their perch, thus delivering them into my grasping hands. And quite frankly, I'm stronger than the vending machine. Cue Mark, gently rocking the vending machine backwards and forwards. Cue Mark rather more vigorously shaking the vending machine. Give. Me. My. Mini. Chedders.

And there go the mini-chedders... falling straight to... where?

This is the vending machines final triumph. To this day I've never quite worked out exactly where my mini-chedders went. They fell and... then vanished. I'm assuming it was down to some sort of anti-tampering mechanism, but I don't rule out the possibility that the malevolent machine may have simply decided to swallow them itself purely to vex me. And I'll bet it doesn't even like mini-chedders.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure I do either anymore...