The vending machine at work has opinions about me

It's five o'clock on a Tuesday and I'm standing in the hospital corridor trying to decide if I want the sad tuna sandwich or the sadder crackers, and it occurs to me that this is the third time today I've let a machine make a decision for me. Bad coffee, small wins on a 30-hour shift — I think the vending machine knows I'm not going to argue with it anymore.