The Coffee Machine

The only thing keeping me alive in the IB is the coffee machine. I go to a full IB school. Partially as a result of that, I've decided that coffee is essential to my survival as a human being. The only building in the school that has a coffee machine is the IB. It's the single redeeming quality of the building that is double my age. The building is so derelict it feels like it's going to cave on me and the things that make this elderly building even more shitty are the posters plastered all over every section of wall available. The moronic posters defacing the wall make we want to lose my mind. I just want to rip them off the wall and shove them into the asshole of the stupid bastard that created them, who probably went through the thought process of: "kids don't like gremlins, right? Therefore making a gremlin who plagiarizes will stop kids from plagiarizing." I mean the fucking plagiarism gremlin? Seriously?

Oh. Wow. Ouch... Hurtful.

An it's not only the fucking plagiarism gremlin.The classes are polluted by half-assed sketches of historical figures. (who are often just fucking destroyed with Nazi vandalism, what is this freaky obsession with the swastika and toothbrush mustaches? Nelson Mandela never deserved this) Actually, to be honest some of the sketches are pretty incredible, but focusing is difficult when Karl Marx is staring intently at you during economics.

I can see you...

The coffee machine is my savior. The coffee machine is to me what the Sun is to planet Earth. I love the coffee machine like my mother. It's functional and delicious and if marrying it was possible, I'd have little cyborg coffee machine babies with it. Now imagine me with 5 hours sleep. It's the last lesson of the day and I have to take it with a teacher who has an unfortunate habit of talking very softly and slowly. Very, very slowly, in a soft grandma-like voice that just begs “have a glass of warm milk and go to bed”. I want to focus, I need to focus. It's my higher level subject and to do that, I must visit my Mechanic Messiah for my dose of sweet, sweet caffeine.

HELP! PLEASE! They're MILKING ME

The problem with the coffee machine is that it is (like everything else in this shoddy excuse for a building) old and unreliable. The coffee machine is (as I have now discovered) fickle. Hear my epic tale of betrayal. I've got to focus in the higher level subject and cannot afford to offend the granny-teacher. It's the lunch break and directly before the lesson and someone has even offered to buy me a 30 p. cup. It is literally the perfect time and situation. I get to the spot. Locate my precious, insert 25 p. into it and hear the indistinguishable clatter of coin on plastic. Not on other coins, but plastic. I check the change slot. To my slowly growing horror I realize that the machine has rejected my advances. Please honey,Please sunshine; take my money. No, it refuses yet again. The only clue to its sudden failure was the German label under the coin slot (which said "Sprung von einer Brücke"). After whacking it a few times and shouting at it until the university counselor told me to fuck off, I realized it would be to no avail. Thwarted, I went to class knowing that I shall  inevitably, be slain by the demons of slumber and not be woken up by the teacher because she'll either think that I need it, or be too insulted to do so. When I needed it most, my starshine, my beauty and my one true love decided that it was going to go AWOL. I’m not bitter though. I can’t be. I need the machine, it doesn't need me. But I feel the need to say: Fuck you coffee machine, I hope you explode.