I involuntarily gulped a little. But with fake pride writ large on my face, anyway went ahead to get my drink from the machine. And a second later, I stare in wide eyed amazement when I find that the paper cup wouldn’t budge from its place. It was stuck to the cup-holder! And the cup is damn hot! 90 °C says the machine. So, I yank it a little this way and that in an attempt to loosen the vice-like grip of the holder from the cup rim. But the more I yanked, the more the Murphy clan rocked! And before I knew it, I had somehow managed to squeeze the paper cup, and its erstwhile contents were now lying in a neat little puddle on the floor by my foot.
By then I wanted to kick that damned vending machine, but I don’t have the strength in me to lift my foot to bestow this little act of annoyance on it. I am no management expert or war general, but I do know that the battle is still on, and I just cannot squander my position however weak that might be.
"You just wait and watch, Mr. Murphy,” I muster all my courage to speak in my best smart-ass tone, "You are sure as hell gonna regret paying me a visit.”
“Oooh, a feisty little thing,” retorts Murphy, “But peeps, don’t I always win my battles, more so against feisty creatures?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Woof, woof, woof.” That was the Murphy clan cheering from the sidelines.
What if I don’t have any supporters; I am all I need, says a voice inside me. And so, I roll up my sleeves, and fish out some more money to get myself that precious drink now. So this time around, the coins fall down with a clink, the cup is dismembered from the gorges of the machine, and the beverage pours down with a sound that is now music to my ears. I gingerly open the flip door, and gently pry the cup out of the holder. Yippee do! I finally have my Hot Choco in my hands!!
“Uh-oh, Mr. Murphy! Care to join me for a drink? The drink is on me for sure; you were such a good sport after all.”
Silence. I hear neither Murphy nor the Yes-Woof chorus.
“Oh! Mr. Murphy. Now don’t be such a grouse. Come say congratulations to me. How many people beat you in your own game? You gotta acknowledge that.”
Still silence.
Ah, well! “Good riddance,” I think, and decide to enjoy the drink for which I fought so hard. “Expensive drink, this one,” I mutter to myself, and oh-so-slowly take a swig out of the cup.
What transpired next is best censored from this blog, because I managed to curse myself in some rather unpleasant words. Instead of the hot-choco that I craved, I now was in possession of a cup of piping hot coffee – black, bitter and strong! Aided by Murphy, I must have pressed the wrong button. And as I stood there contemplating what to do with that cup of coffee, I am sure I saw the Murphy clan gliding across the hall in a neat little line on their tip-toes, the perfect image of grace and style, with Murphy at the head, and Tommy at the end.
“Boy! We do a mean ballet or what!” cackles Murphy.
But his peeps I am sure don’t believe in rhetorical questions, and as is their wont, reply in the affirmative, “Yes, yes, yes. Woof, woof, woof.”
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