Today at work, I was mind-raped in the basement. That's right. Mind-raped.

The secure building where I work is connected to a non-secure building via an underground tunnel. There's a snack bar in the basement on the non-secure side. When I'm really hungry, I bypass the vending machine on the first floor and head down to the snack bar because it has a small kitchen menu.

This morning, I was really hungry. As I waited for the one-man kitchen to cook my breakfast burrito, an older, heavy-set man who works on the non-secure side walked in. He passed by me and sat at a table.

He was quiet for a while (my back was facing him), but then he spoke,

"What do you do here?"

"I work in the building next door."

"Ohhh [slow, creepy nod]. The AKRNM Division..."

"Well, I'm actually with ORG, but I'm a contract writer for the AKRNM Training Division."

"Ohhh [slow, creepy nod]. I've worked with a few ORG people over here on some programs..."

I nodded affirmatively, but, attempting to discourage him from soliciting further creepy-small-talk, I didn't say anything. I didn't like the way he looked at me. He was eyeing my chi.

"So you're a writer..."

He wasn't getting it. Or he didn't care.

"Well, I write for the training reps, but I don't know that I would call myself a writer--"

"--you're modest... that's a b'YOOtiful quality..."

It was official. He was officially dipping into my chi. I nodded again, silently.

More awkward silence, as I thought to myself, "how freakin long does it take to make a damn breakfast burrito??"

"You know it goes a lot faster if you sit down," said the chi-sucker.

"I'm sure he's almost finished--I've been waiting a while--"

"--I know..."

I'm thinking, "I wouldn't need it to go any 'faster' if you would quit freaking mind-raping me." And who says that, by the way? "It goes a lot faster if you [substitute word for cooperate]." It goes a lot faster? I'm sure that's comforting to the girls chained up in his tool shed.

When I got my burrito, I almost ran down the hall to the entryway into the secure side of the basement. But I got away. The end.

Yeah. It's anti-climactic. I know.

But here's a bit of climactic follow-up on the SureVend situation. As it turns out, I may NOT be the Dalai Lama after all.

Today, the machine gave me TWO PayDays. I told my co-workers about it, and one them said it's happened to her and another lady on the fifth floor as well. I suppose Buddha could be trying to tell us he wants us to fight to the death for the sacred position.  And even though an office death-match would definitely mean risking some professional face, the risk might be worth it. I'm sure the Dalai Lama gets free medical—do you think?

Maybe I just don't want to believe that E8 puts out for anybody else...