Vending Off a Vicious Attack of Nerves
You put your 55 cents in the vending machine, watch the twirly thing twirls, the candy leans tantalizingly out ... and stops, dangling just behind the glass.
You bang the machine, hoping your puny muscles can nudge a several-hundred pound money maker into giving you your rightful due. You contort your arm into the slot into unnatural positions, hoping you will somehow be able to stretch it another, say, 3 feet to your prize. You kick it, and stub your toe. You try just putting a nickel in, in case it's trying to extort you.
Finally you collapse into a hysterical fit, screaming "Give me my Strawberry Twizzler, you monster!" until they call security.
Conclusion: The vending machine hates me. It purposely does this on days that I'm starving, cranky, or signing a mortgage.