As in almost everything in this world I am not entirely as I seem at a first glance. There is a task that I perform every Tuesday which Iandrsquo;m certain that no one could replace in quite the same way. Filling up the vending machine on Tuesday afternoon has become somewhat of a ritual, a methodical process I have become quite attached to. If anyone else tries to muscle in on my duties, perhaps in their attempt to avoid mopping or to offer respite for a cigarette break then I make sure to find an excuse they canandrsquo;t penetrate. I avoid training new employees like the plague.

No one can take care of the vending machine like I do. Although I will never meet many of the customers that benefit from my meticulous service, I like to think that they believe their instant coffee tastes better since I have been around. I have a relationship with the vending machine that no one else could understand; even I have trouble putting my finger on the exact reason why I have become so attached to this rectangular receptacle.

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