Woman vs. Vending Machine

I make no bones about the fact that I'm a cheapskate frugal.  I don't leave pennies in the "leave a penny/take a penny" cup at the convenience store.  I pick up nickels off the street, and I prefer to shop at stores like Ross, Kohl's, and TJ Maxx.  So, it shouldn't come as a surprise that I would fight with a high-tech vending machine to the bitter end to make sure it didn't cheat me out of my hard-earned cash.

As part of my company's initiative to be more healthy, it shipped out our typical vending machines packed with chips, candy bars, and soda pop, and contracted with a high class snack food vending machine company to provide food in our break room.  This meant we got a freezer full of frozen burritos and other frozen meals, a refrigerator full of packaged salads and sandwiches, milk, and yogurt, and a shelf full of instant oatmeal, fresh fruit, dried fruit, and beef jerky.

To entice us to use the new vending system, each member of my company was given a vending card with a $5 credit on it to use at the "market."  I easily used up $4.95 on the card but was dismayed to learn that the remaining $0.05 couldn't be used towards a partial payment, but if the $0.05 remaining on the card was to be used, I needed to add more money to the card (which could only be done in whole dollar increments) and try to strategically purchase items to zero out the card.  This is where my war with the machine began, to ensure the $0.05 didn't go to waste.

I plotted.  I schemed.  I added money to the card.  I purchased food.  Yet I could never win.  After about six months of effort and $100 later, our company told us that the "market" would be discontinued due to lack of use.  The "market" would not be restocked and we had two months to use the remaining balances on our cards.

Panic set in.  And the earnest scheming began.  I immediately rushed to the "market," sure that if I was to win this little game, I needed to get to the "market" before the supplies were depleted.  I scanned my card.  $0.44 left.  I picked up item after item, scanning each to determine the price.  $0.99.  $0.99.  $1.69. $1.59. $0.99.  $0.99.  How as this going to work?  Then, Eureka!  An ice cream bar cost $1.49.  If I used cash to add $1 to my card (rather than using a credit card), I would get a 5 cent bonus.  This would make the total balance on my card $1.49.  I hurriedly added my cash to the card, got the bonus and purchased the ice cream bar.  My card balance then read $0.00.  Sweet victory was mine!  Mwuhahahahaha!

I headed back to my office, closed the door, and ate my Blue Bonnet vanilla ice cream bar.  A generic-brand ice cream at 9:30 a.m. never tasted so good as did this one, washing down my morning coffee.  Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm!

Am I ashamed to admit I wasted so much time and money to ensure that initial $0.05 did not go to waste?  A little.  And, although I could have asked for a refund of my $0.44 in connection with the closing of the "market," I couldn't really stomach the idea of tracking down the right person to say (in my best Office Space voice) , "Yeah, I'm gonna have to ask you to cut me a check for the balance on my card."  So, in the end, I claim victory!

mmmm......PIE!!!

I was at a business social this week.  In addition to the regular too-fancy-to eat typical hor d' oeuvres, there was a pie station!  A pie station!  And, not any pie station, but a pie station with little tiny homemade handpies.  Not only was there to-die-for triple berry pie but there was also a savory little tomato herb number, with the flakiest of crusts.

The only problem was that the table was way off to the side of the main thoroughfare and there wasn't much traffic or people standing around the table (for reasons I don't understand), plus the pie lady was standing behind the table all night long...as though she was keeping track of how many pies each person consumed.  Now, this set-up isn't so bad if you're a person with a little self control and can limit yourself to one or two little pies, but if you're a pie addict with limited impulse control, this creates a little bit of an awkward situation.  Especially, if every time you go to grab pie you feel compelled to justify why you've come back to get more pie, certain that the pie lady recognizes you and is judging you for being so greedy.

My compulsion to talk with the pie lady stems from this philosophy I have that if the stinky kid in class self declares himself to be stinky, no one can tease him about.  Similarly, if the pie piggy calls herself out, no one else will think anything of it.  I admit, it might be a flawed philosophy. 

So, all evening, not only did I pig out on handpies, I also made a bigger deal of the situation than was needed.  As a greedily snatched another pie off the platter, I asked rhetorical questions like, "whose the little piggy back for more pie?" and "what do you put in these things to make them so addictive?"  On other visits to the pie counter, I'd say things like "You'd think I hadn't eaten for a week the way I'm downing this little guys" or "Mmmm...pie."  All the while knowing that my presence at the table would be far less noticeable (and embarrassing) if I could just shut up, grab a pie, and go.

It ended up that I was one of the last few people at the event (not just because of the pies, mind you).  At this point, the pie lady left her stand unmanned for a few minutes (so I took my opportunity to grab a few more pies without being judged.  Score!) and as she was walking back to her table to start packing up, one of my friends engaged her on the topic of her delicious pies.  That brought the pie lady into our group and we talked a little bit about her shop and her pies.  Then, I felt compelled to make one final comment about the sheer number of pies I consumed that evening.  Instead of responding, "Oh I didn't notice," she said, "Oh, it wasn't that many."  Ah ha!  She had been counting!