Friday, June 11, 2010

Sweet, juicy victory.

Every day at work, with shaking knees and pounding heart, I face my nemesis. It is a terrifying beast, complex, powerful and dangerous to boot. I've seen grown men quiver in its stare, and it rules the hosts of the Cannon Center with an iron fist. What is this fiend? It is the Cannon Center juice machine. (Or for the sake of accuracy, the juice machines. I refer to them as a single entity because I'm sure there's some kinda hive-mind thing going on there).
Many times have I faced down this demon, and many times have I been defeated. Two weeks ago, I was cleaning the front of one of the machines, when it suddenly began spewing grape juice everywhere. Its power froze me in my tracks, leaving me only enough strength to weakly call, "Claire? I'm gonna need your juice key...." Oh the shame that coursed through my body and soul as I mopped up the carnage left in the monster's wake. I had failed.
Three days ago, however, I had the chance to redeem myself. I was going about my normal host-y duties, when an R.A. approached me, panic in his eyes. "The cranberry juice won't stop!" he cried. Without a moment's hesitation, I sprinted across the dining hall to the cashier stand, and called to one of my fellows-in-arms, "Seth! Give me your juice key!" My comrade lobbed the lanyard across the space between us. I snatched it from the air in a manner that Harrison Ford would approve of, and wheeled around back to the offending juice machine, where I thrust the key into the belly of the beast, disabling it and thwarting its evil plans.
Ok, actually the juice machine wasn't spewing out cranberry anymore by that point (it had run out of juice) so it was slightly less dramatic than I would have hoped. I must say though, my key-catch was fairly epic.
Following this dashing escapade, my manager asked me to perform the daunting task of emptying all of the juice trays. This has never turned out well for me. I usually end up with more juice on my shoes and pants than actually makes it into the bucket. This time, however, I faced the task with relish. "I am now the master of the juice machine," I thought. "Besides, I already have half of this really cool blog post composed in my head, I can't fail now."
Long story short, I deftly and expertly removed every tray, emptying the juice from each without a drop spilling to the floor. I no longer have anything to fear from the juice machines because I have seen their worst, faced it, and conquered.
Next goal: filling up the smoothie makers without spilling.

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