vending machines

I sit by the vending machines on my floor at my office. I always get to hear people pace back and forth between them, considering the many equally horrible options, torn by their decision.

Every time I hear them jingling their change in their hands, stroking their chins, wondering what combination of sugar, salt, and preservatives will suit their tastes best, I say the same thing: “Would you like to see a wine list?”

Kills ’em. Knocks ’em dead. Every time.