I've been considering measures to take against vending machines that refuse to work.
I haven't any concrete numbers, but I would guess that in the 50 or so years I've been feeding money into these callous contraptions, they actually have worked only about 50 percent of the time. A few times when they don't work, the machine doesn't deliver the object I have selected, but it does return my money. I can deal with this.
What happens mostly, however, is the machine not only doesn't give me my soft drink oir candy or bag of chips, it also refuses to return my money.
I cannot deal with this. My eyes bulge out, my hands begin to fucking shake, and I want to kill the machine.
To this point, I never have taken any drastic measures, however, because of my fear of the men in white coats.
Another source of my frustration when it come to vending machines is this: There never seems to be anybody around to scream at when a goddam machine has just ripped you off.
You would think since the machine is in a hotel or gas station, you could go to some sort of assistant manger and say, in a loud voice so others could hear you, " your fucking machine has robbed me of my money!"
The problem is that when a vending machine refuses to work, it is impossible to find anybody who will take responsibility for it.
"We just lease the space to the vending company," I been told.
"You have to talk to Mr Wallakowski about that and he's on vacation in Wyoming and will not be back until 2010," is antother cop-out.
It would be easier getting your money back from a television evangelist.
I decided, however, it is possible to get something back that is better than money, revenge. Here is how I have planned to get back at the next dam vending machine that robs me.
I am going to kick the machine, I don't mean a gentel kick. I mean I'm going to rear back and kick the machine until there are large dents in it, I am going to kick it until it is in a terrible state of disrepair and then I am going to spit on it.
After that. I am going to get violent. am going to my car and get my tire iron, and I am to beat the fucking machine some more. I want glass to fly. I want things inside the fucking machine to make god awful crunching sounds. I want nuts and bolts and screws to roll around on the fucking floor. I want near by dogs to wimper and small childern to cry.
Then, I'm going to get really mad, Im going to set the fucking thing on fire. I am going to take off my cloths and dance naked, around that goddam smoldering machine, throw my hands wildly into air while giving out primal screams.
And after a few days of ouiet rest in my padded cell, I will emerge a new man.
I haven't any concrete numbers, but I would guess that in the 50 or so years I've been feeding money into these callous contraptions, they actually have worked only about 50 percent of the time. A few times when they don't work, the machine doesn't deliver the object I have selected, but it does return my money. I can deal with this.
What happens mostly, however, is the machine not only doesn't give me my soft drink oir candy or bag of chips, it also refuses to return my money.
I cannot deal with this. My eyes bulge out, my hands begin to fucking shake, and I want to kill the machine.
To this point, I never have taken any drastic measures, however, because of my fear of the men in white coats.
Another source of my frustration when it come to vending machines is this: There never seems to be anybody around to scream at when a goddam machine has just ripped you off.
You would think since the machine is in a hotel or gas station, you could go to some sort of assistant manger and say, in a loud voice so others could hear you, " your fucking machine has robbed me of my money!"
The problem is that when a vending machine refuses to work, it is impossible to find anybody who will take responsibility for it.
"We just lease the space to the vending company," I been told.
"You have to talk to Mr Wallakowski about that and he's on vacation in Wyoming and will not be back until 2010," is antother cop-out.
It would be easier getting your money back from a television evangelist.
I decided, however, it is possible to get something back that is better than money, revenge. Here is how I have planned to get back at the next dam vending machine that robs me.
I am going to kick the machine, I don't mean a gentel kick. I mean I'm going to rear back and kick the machine until there are large dents in it, I am going to kick it until it is in a terrible state of disrepair and then I am going to spit on it.
After that. I am going to get violent. am going to my car and get my tire iron, and I am to beat the fucking machine some more. I want glass to fly. I want things inside the fucking machine to make god awful crunching sounds. I want nuts and bolts and screws to roll around on the fucking floor. I want near by dogs to wimper and small childern to cry.
Then, I'm going to get really mad, Im going to set the fucking thing on fire. I am going to take off my cloths and dance naked, around that goddam smoldering machine, throw my hands wildly into air while giving out primal screams.
And after a few days of ouiet rest in my padded cell, I will emerge a new man.
beccy:
lillithvain:
I hate it when the vending machines don't work. It's a conspiricy!