Some battles are fought in arenas. Others, in courtrooms. But for Miss Snowwolf, aka Mary, her greatest duel took place in the dimly lit corner of a break room, next to a humming, blinking metal box full of stale chips and broken dreams.
This is the tale of Mary vs. the Vending Machine — a tragic comedy of buttons, betrayal, and a very stubborn packet of peanut M&Ms.
Act I: The Hungry Prelude
It all began on a rainy Thursday afternoon. The kind of afternoon where time slows down and the scent of microwave burritos lingers like a ghost in the office air.
Mary, ever the diligent employee (if not the punctual one), had just wrapped up a disastrous Zoom meeting where she accidentally turned herself into a potato filter for the duration. She was emotionally drained, physically hungry, and spiritually in need of chocolate.
“I deserve a reward,” she announced to the nearest fern.
And so she embarked on her noble quest: down the hallway, past the suspicious water cooler, and into the break room, where the legendary Vending Machine #47 awaited her.
This machine had a reputation. It was moody. It was selective. It was known to consume dollar bills with the cold efficiency of a paper shredder.
But Mary was determined. Armed with a crisp five-dollar bill and the emotional hunger of someone who just got muted for 30 minutes on a group call, she stood before the machine and whispered:
“Be kind to me, metal god.”
Act II: The First Attempt
She scanned the options: Doritos? Too crunchy. Trail mix? Too healthy. Gummy worms? Too existential.
Her eyes locked on D4: Peanut M&Ms — colorful, comforting, and undoubtedly what her soul needed.
She inserted the bill. It went in. Then came back out.
She tried again. The machine spit it out like it was allergic to optimism.
On the third attempt, the bill went in and stayed.
A soft, satisfying beep. The numbers lit up.
“YES,” Mary hissed, pressing D4 with the intensity of someone detonating a missile.
The coil turned.
The packet jiggled.
And stopped.
Still stuck.
A gasp echoed from within her chest cavity.
“No,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against the glass. “Don’t do this to me. Not today.”
Act III: Negotiations Begin
Mary, not one to give up on chocolate or dignity (though she often lost both), tapped the machine gently.
Nothing.
She tried shaking it — lightly at first, like coaxing a shy cat. The M&Ms refused to budge.
She crouched down and made eye contact with the dangling packet, as if sheer willpower might convince it to fall.
A coworker walked in, saw her crouched in front of the machine, and slowly backed out of the room.
Undeterred, Mary pulled out her phone and Googled:
“How to dislodge snack from vending machine without looking like a criminal.”
Search results were unhelpful. One suggested calling a vending machine therapist.
Act IV: The Escalation
By now, Mary had entered the bargaining phase of grief.
“If you fall,” she told the packet, “I promise to eat you slowly. With reverence. I’ll savor every crunchy bite. I won’t even judge the yellow ones.”
Still nothing.
She pressed D4 again, hoping a second payment would knock it loose. The machine gleefully took another dollar.
The coil turned again.
The M&Ms still didn’t fall.
Now there were two packets wedged in the coil like chocolatey prisoners of war.
Mary’s eye twitched.
The vending machine had escalated the conflict. So would she.
Act V: MacGyver Mode
Mary rummaged through her tote bag of wonders. Out came:
- One reusable straw
- Two pens
- A plastic ruler
- And a pair of chopsticks from lunch three weeks ago
She assembled a makeshift device using the chopsticks and ruler like she was defusing a bomb.
Lying flat on the floor, she attempted to poke the stuck snacks from the bottom slot.
Nothing.
She poked harder.
Something moved — but it was a bag of Funyuns from another slot that slipped and plummeted into the tray.
Mary paused.
“…I’ll take it.”
Act VI: Audience Participation
At this point, the saga had drawn an audience.
Three coworkers hovered near the coffee machine, sipping silently, watching as if this was their afternoon soap opera.
“Place your bets,” one whispered. “I give her five more minutes before she tips it over.”
“I think she’s building a crowbar,” said another.
Mary stood, disheveled, hair frizzed from stress and static electricity. She pointed at the machine and declared:
“I will get my M&Ms. You can take my time, my money, but not my candy.”
Someone clapped. Another recorded a video. It hit Instagram Stories within seconds.
Act VII: The Security Guard Arrives
Eventually, word reached the front desk. A security guard appeared — clipboard in hand, face caught between concern and curiosity.
“What seems to be the issue, ma’am?”
Mary, surrounded by improvised tools and snack wrappers, replied solemnly:
“The vending machine has betrayed me. Twice.”
The guard nodded as if this happened every Thursday.
He examined the situation, gave the machine a light thump in a very specific spot, and like magic — ka-thunk — both M&M packets dropped into the tray.
Mary blinked. The crowd gasped.
The guard tipped his hat.
“Sometimes you just have to know its weak spot.”
Act VIII: The Triumphant Exit
With both packets finally in hand, Mary stood like a gladiator victorious on the battlefield. The Funyuns still lay uneaten. The ruler was bent. One chopstick was missing.
She turned to the onlookers.
“This,” she said, holding up the candy, “is not just sugar-coated joy. It is justice.”
The office applauded. Someone handed her a bottle of water. Another offered a sticky note with “Snack Avenger” written in bold Sharpie letters.
Epilogue: Lessons Learned
Later that day, Mary wrote an email to HR requesting a second vending machine. Her reasoning?
- Psychological trauma
- Employee morale
- Snack accessibility in crisis
They never replied.
The vending machine, however, seemed quieter after that day. Some say it never jammed again—not out of design, but fear.
Mary now keeps one packet of M&Ms on her desk as a trophy.
“Never forget,” she says, every time someone asks.
The Philosophy of the Snack Struggle
Beyond the comedy, this tale holds timeless truths.
- Persistence pays off. Even if it takes a chopstick and public embarrassment.
- Life will jam your M&Ms. You just need to learn where to thump it.
- Dignity is overrated when chocolate is at stake.
Mary, as always, turns the mundane into myth. She doesn’t just exist in the world — she declares war on vending machines and exits with applause.
The machine may have held the snacks, but Mary held the soul of the office that day.
And so, her legend grows.
