I Need Everyone To Join Me…

Okay, indulge me…

As I type, it’s currently 3 AM and I’m stranded in a dimly lit office building at the tail end of what will ultimately be an 18-hour shift. Yesterday morning, I was approached by a manager who—following some superfluous pleasantries regarding the remarkably pragmatic actions of one Antonio Brown—requested I serve an overnight stint at a separate location.

For the record, it was Friday but I had no significant plans. My cerebrum quarreled like a South African meerkat until eventually capitulating to the capitalistic ambitions of our contemporary climate. All it took was a perfunctory nod of the chin to enslave my predilection. I was to serve the supplemental stint because, well, an impending 5-month RedZone subscription invoice loomed over the not so distant horizon.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the most dignified decision I’ve made; however, in the words of Red Skull upon the sacrificial cliff of Vormir: “In order to take the Soul Stone (or ≈120 hours of Scott Hanson), you must lose that which you love”—which, in this particular case, was 750 milliliters of bargain bin whiskey and an ill-consumed late night marathon of Shark Tank

Considering the unforeseen nature of such a commitment, my mind scampered to prepare. I was shipwrecked with a laundry list of time restraints and scheduling complexities; most notably, my employer’s ostensibly draconian attendance policy. How would I manage to ingest a practical meal before the commencement of my shift?

I hastily retired to my 2014 Ford Fiesta (“The Sex Machine”) as my thoughts congregated in a fit of deliberation, ultimately arriving at an inescapable conclusion: “Lunch” would be mass produced, vacuum sealed, and procured from the company vending machine…

With little time to brood—and even less to act—I dashed back into the facility, halting in front of the machine with one thing on my mind. For those keeping score at home, Kar’s Nuts manufactures this Yogurt Apple Nut trail mix that I would potentially curb stomp a prepubescent, recently-orphaned burn victim for. They’re that fucking good, so when I saw them in stock, I pounced on the opportunity.

During that fleeting moment in time, I can categorically declare I achieved some sense of existential equilibrium. It was a state of euphoria incapable of being expressed in literary form.

It was everything, until it wasn’t

Rather than complying to conventional practice, the vending machine remained true, seemingly unsatisfied with my bequest. That euphoria I spoke of radically deteriorated into paralysis. It was like encountering a package containing that Crystal Caribbean XXL Vibrating Dildo you’ve been saving up all Summer for, only to realize the name on the shipping label belongs to your mom. Just a peak-and-valley sensation like you read about.

Realizing my dollar—as well as my exclusive source of sustenance—was gone, I retreated back to The Sex Machine… but not before I acquired the vending machine company’s contact information…

Here’s something you need to know about me: I’m not someone who fights for a decision. I don’t squirm at the sight of blood. I don’t holler for the life boats whenever there’s a leak and I CERTAINLY don’t wave anything resembling a white cloth unless I’m playing capture the flag.

Simply put, I’m not going to let injustices like this tread unavenged, which is why I’ve already sent two meticulously crafted emails to these dickheads demanding my dollar back. If my insistence goes unaddressed, I can assure you it will not go unaddressed.

And I know most of you are thinking: “Come on Joe, it’s not worth it. I mean, when it’s all said and done, what’s a dollar?”

You want to know what a dollar is? A FUCKING START…

What happens when these corporate entities get greedy? What happens when a dollar becomes a c-note? What happens when that c-note is put forth towards a factory intent on creating mind control robots?

Listen, I’ve seen way too many Will Smith movies to allow something like this to get off the ground. Once it gains steam, there’s no telling what could happen; alas, we are not without artillery.

There is strength in numbers, and luckily, that’s what we have. We have the ability to halt companies—such as those dickheads at the vending machine facility—dead in their tracks. Hell, all it took were a few athletes kneeling and guess what? Racism’s fucking gonzo. Stick a fork in it. Done…

So I ask you now… what’s it gonna be?

– Joey Boats (@joey_boats)

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