One day when I was in college, I woke up late. I never, EVER skip breakfast, but I knew I wasn’t going to have time to go to the cafeteria. I looked in our mini-fridge: All we had was a jar of mangoes that had been around since the Carter Administration. There was a vending machine on the way to my class. I checked my little change bowl, and there was about a buck-fifty, just enough for a package of donuts and a carton of milk. Not exactly the breakfast of champions, but better than an empty stomach. So I brushed my teeth, put some water on my bed-head, and took off. But when I put my fifty cents into the machine (the cost of the donuts), nothing happened. Nothing. Not knowing what else to do, I put another two quarters in. Again, the machine acted like I didn’t exist. My indignation and lack of sleep then overrode any rational thought, and I put in my last two quarters. Zip, zilch, nada. I was crushed. As I moped my way toward class, angry, tired and hungry, I ran into my roommate and best friend, Mike. He asked, “How’s your day?” “Terrible,” I said, then I proceeded to tell him my tale of woe. After a couple of seconds, he started laughing. He didn’t stop for a long time. Finally, wiping the tears from his eyes, he said, “So when the machine didn’t give you any donuts, your solution was to keep on feeding it quarters?” I didn’t like Mike much at that point. I bid him a rather unfriendly adieu and went to class. I was very glad when lunchtime arrived, because I was truly hungry at that point. But when I sat down at my usual table with my usual friends, they had all heard the story--and wanted to hear me tell it myself--of how I kept putting quarters into a broken vending machine. I still didn’t see the humor in the situation.