DAMN THE MAN
the scene: large downstairs breakroom. 4:30pm. heavily populated by late shifters on their first breaks, and unshifted engineer types antsing for some ice cream or coffee to make it through the evening.

the cast: jackie, hungry and befudgesicled. julia, sleepy. coffee machine, poised and ready, except for the "out of order" post-it, taped to the dollar bill feeder.

act 1.
i think i'll just push some buttons and see if it responds. really, a pink post-it note taped to the dollar bill feeder isn't very convincing. anyway, i brought coins. i press buttons, and it asks for 50 cents. still, the pink post-it glares at me from the corner of my eye. perhaps this is when the pink post-it first began to realize how weak i am when it comes to vanilla and coffee together, and how much a sucker for civil disobedience i am. momentarily defeated, i sit down with jackie as she gnawed at her fudgesicle.

act 2.
i plant the seed of the resistance in jackie's mind. i tell her, "WHO ARE WE TO BLINDLY FOLLOW COMMANDS SCRAWLED IN BAD HANDWRITING ON PINK POST-ITS!" "and also, what if it's just telling me the dollar bill thing isn't working." jackie then tells me that she made the sign yesterday after the machine ate craig's money. and that she had originally put it front and center, but moved it to cover the dollar bill feeder for better visibility. again, momentarily defeated, i continue to watch her fudgesicle gnawingness

act 3.
i tell jackie i won't let this hold me back. KILL THE MAN! i pounce from my chair to face the machine. i shake out my wrists a little and peel the pink post-it from it's perch. [i totally didn't intend for that to be an alliteration; it just happened. and i certainly didn't intend for it to be an onomatopoeia. i apologize.] i shake my wrists to brace myself for the impending revolution. i put in a quarter, two dimes, and a nickel in no particular order. jackie starts saying, "well, apparently craig used coins yesterday and it still ate his money." i press the first button. jackie speculates, "maybe it's out of cups and is just going to pour it down the drain?" i scoff at such an accusation. i press the second button. fade out.

act 4.
fade in. cue coffee machine noises. the clear plastic door closing. the swishing and release of ingredients. the aroma of sweet vanilla and coffee. people stare. i turn to jackie. "well shit. you're right." we walk upstairs, jackie laughing, julia permanently defeated, the coffee machine drain full. the spotlight shines on the evil coffee machine as the curtains close around it.

act 5.
julia goes back downstairs with the red-lined pink post-it that reads "out of order cups. no really, I MEAN IT."