George dropped the final folder of papers on the pile at the end of his desk. “That’s about it,” he said out loud, to nobody at all, because the room was empty. His furniture was already packed in the van and the only remaining items were the window treatments and a 75 year-old rug which was national property. And the bureau.
George leant against the desk, feeling slightly defeated. He wasn’t top dog any more; but being honest with himself, he was glad of it. Despite its messier moments, these 8 years hadn’t been without their benefits: at least his retirement fund was in good shape now, something that couldn’t be said for some other folks.
Suddenly an idea popped into his head. Fiddling in his trouser pocket, he found some small change. He was elated! It was perfect! With a spring in his step and purpose in his glide, in moments he found himself face-to-face with the vending machine alongside the library. This was one policy he’d failed to deregulate: important people should not be expected to pay for candy!
But as fate would have it, the machine was not so yielding this evening. Receiving his devalued 80 cents, the beige behemoth turned its spring-like dispensers on his selection, but no confection was dropped into the tray below. George looked askance into the machine; what was happening to him tonight? Did he need any more bad luck? The Hershey’s bar was suspended tantalisingly within reach, ready to make its long fall into the tray below … but it was caught on the dispenser. George weighed his options. Break into the glassy prison? No. Bail-out his property with more money? Never! There was only one thing for it.
George’s hip-and-shoulder move on the side of the “President” model vending machine caused both the tilt alarm to trip and the suspended chocolate to be deposited into the bottom of the unit. Just as he was standing up from the awkward posture required to retrieve his confection from the flap, the house security guard appeared.
“Everything OK, Sir?” asked the burly assistant over the din of the strident ringing bell coming from inside the machine.
“Yes,” replied George shortly, as he straightened up, with a frown, “just fine. Been quite a night. I needed something for elevenses.”
The aide used his large bunch of keys to silence the machine, and all was quiet again.
As George made his way back to the study to switch off the lights, the antique hall clock gently chimed the evening hour, as if nothing had changed and one era was quite the same as the next.
It was eleven PM. Time to enjoy his little snack, then teeth, pajamas, and bed.
Tomorrow was a new day, indeed.
