The Snotty Receptionist

I go to the receptionist at a place that will remain unnamed. "Do you have change for a $5 so I can use the vending machines?" I ask. "WE don't have change HERE," she drawls in a superfluous tone, as if providing change was equivalent to riding on the back of a garbage truck. She looks at me with mild distaste as if only a subhuman would use a vending machine instead of driving to Starbucks to order a skinny double frappuccino with whey and wheat grass. 

"That's ok," I answer. "On second thought I'd rather starve."