Vending Machines

Turns out you can get some weird shit out of them these days:

1. Caviar: YES
With three locations in L.A., Beverly Hills Caviar (@gourmetfood) is one of the fancier items you can get from a vending machine. The selection ranges from Spicy Black American Caviar ($25 per ounce) to Imperial River Beluga ($500 per ounce). And who doesn't want to walk around the Westfield Mall with $1,000 worth of caviar?  

Sniff sniff... brings back memories of my old vending machine at work, which was oddly great...maybe too great, which led to this old gem: First of all, yes I know I'm asking for trouble by having spent three years at this job and knowing that if I don't bring lunch from home I'm at the mercy of the vending machines, since there's no place to walk to within miles of the office.  So yes, off the bat, we can all agree I'm an idiot to begin with, and accept responsibility.  So a while ago I'm fucking starving, and since of course I didn't eat breakfast I'm willing to pay whatever it takes to have whatever the machines are willing to spit out at me, and after a few spins I see that the only thing even REMOTELY palatable is a fucking cheeseburger.  That's right, that most classy item of the vending foods family, the cheeseburger in a plastic wrapper.  Even I'M disgusted by the mere thought of it, but I'm desperate, so fuck it I buy it and throw it in the microwave, punch in 50 seconds - you know, the standard time for  lighting a dead bird on fire and eating it   flame-grilling a juicy sirloin burger with imported Wisconsin cheese - and stand next to it to wait. Innnnnnnnnn walks My Office Crush.  I freeze like a deer in headlights, praying she doesn't come near the microwave and see what I'm "cooking," which of course means she walks right over to it and stands, patiently waiting for my plastic wrapper of turds to slightly warm up so she can heat up the half-cup of whole wheat penne pasta she'd thoughtfully brought from home.  She said hi to me and I said hi back, all the while using a Jedi mind trick to convey that whatever was in the microwave wasn't mine, but was someone else's, most likely the girl sitting quietly at a nearby table eating her salad while reading.  I started fussing with the coffee machine, and of course within seconds the microwave bell DING!ed.  I acted like I hadn't heard it, nor had a reason to; I stalled by walking over to the vending machine for chips, furrowing my brow while deciding which flavor of sensible baked chips to choose from; out of the corner of my eye I could see My Office Crush looking around and wondering who the fuck had left something in the microwave cooking and simply walked out of the café.  Just when I could tell she was gonna give up and take my "burger" out to set aside so "whoever had left it" could come back and get it, therein letting her cook her shit and get the fuck outta there so I can snatch up my ..."burger,"  juuuuuust as she's reaching to open the door and I'm finally about to exhale, the girl at the table nonchalantly looks up from her book and loudly says to me "your food's ready." Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Long story short, I now have to pull this fucking thing that mostly closely resembles a baby's full diaper out of the microwave about two feet in front of My Office Crush, with her disgust surely briefly distracted by wondering if it was possible I was a grown man who didn't understand what it means when a bell goes off and the light goes out on a microwave.  Great.  So now she knows I'm disgusting on the outside, about to be disgusting on the inside, AND a fucking idiot.  Great.  The Hat Trick of Repulsiveness.  Which I don't even know is a fucking word, to be honest with you. Sigh.  Me.  I'm really happening, aren't I?