My name is Dane. I'm a father, jazz musician, designer and intern extraordinaire - but you probably know me through my various interactions with or having to do with the pop machine here at Old Hat HQ. If not, go ahead and get acquainted: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MNM55hxMDl8
Yeah, that aired on local television.
One can see how I might not be the hugest fan of the office pop machine. But I understand that the blame for my predicaments can not fall squarely on the shoulders of an inanimate object. Surely, in the twenty some-odd hours I spend here every week boxing gnomes and posting videos of my slow but steady demise, I could find the time to stock the pop machine. But listen, there is a physical limit to the amount of soda you can fit in one machine, and it is far exceeded by my boss's daily lust for Diet Dr. Pepper. Some close to the situation have said that it's impossible for a mere mortal, given the tools I have been, to adequately satiate Zac's obsession with those 23 flavors. And I'm inclined to agree. Truly, I have never seen anything quite like it. It's as though some wizard at Dr. Pepper used a map of Zac's taste buds to complete his cauldron of calamitously addictive carbonation.
So you can imagine my initial fear when the soda machine was found to have destroyed all Zac's DDP this morning.
When the pop machine runs out, and I have to get sprayed in the face with Dr. Pepper- it's too hard to blame myself. And it's too easy to blame Zac's rampant DDP consumption. The pop machine is the perfect scape-goat, and this morning's debauchery (cleaned up by yours truly) should keep the office on my side for at least a week. Pop machine fail. Intern win.