As Mattheo lay on his back, his eyes roved over and up at the swirling patterns on the ceiling above. Perhaps Tom's point was valid; knocking back five shots in a row might have been a bit excessive. Still, it was the weekend, did it really matter that much? He shielded his eyes with a hand, briefly blocking out the dizziness that had overtaken him, before rolling over and slipping off the side of the bed.
He needed to get up, if only to shake off this sense of intoxication. As he rose, the room disoriented. He reached for his hotel key and wallet, ensuring he had everything he needed for the brief journey that lay ahead.
The room spun as he met the doorknob, but he paid it little mind. If he could get to the outside vending machine and grab a few snacks, perhaps he could alleviate some of the overpowering drunkenness that had taken over him.
He stumbled as he exited his room, but fuck it, he thought. The vending machine was just a few feet down the exterior corridor, and he knew he could make it there without any trouble. He continued onward, pulling his hoodie over his head and crown faced downward with his palms in his pockets. If he could slip by without attracting any attention, all the better.
As he approached the brightly lit vending machine, he took a forward step and retrieved his wallet from his pocket. Opening it, he found a crisp five-dollar bill inside. The dollar reader on the machine seemed to shift slightly within the scope of his drunken gaze, but he managed to push the bill inside.
"What the hell?" he muttered in confusion as the machine promptly spat the bill back out at him. Undeterred, he reached out and retrieved the money, attempting to insert it a second time. Once again, the bill was unceremonously rejected.
Without a word, he attempted it a third time, only to face the same rejection. He let out a heavy sigh, scanning the area around him.
"Take it, you piece of shit," he muttered under his breath, with frustration evident in his tone as he swiftly attempted to insert the bill once more, only to be met with the same outcome.
Lowering his gaze, he refocused his attention on his wallet, hoping to find another bill to feed into the machine that held the promise of his future snack. Yet, to his dismay, he found none.
His fist clenched tightly in response to the annoyance that webbed through him. He struck the machine in frustration. "Goddammit," he muttered irritably. If it wasn't going to accept his money, he'd find another way to get what he needed.
Summoning all his strength, he leaned into the machine, gripping it tightly on both sides. With a forceful shake, he attempted to jostle it into compliance, hoping to achieve the simple goal of obtaining the bag of chips he had initially set out for.
The machine finally relented, dropping a blue package of chocolate cookies from its metal coil.
"Ah, Merlin. I thank you kindly," he exclaimed, his voice now considerably more relaxed than before. He reached down for his nightly prize, feeling a sense of justification for his actions and being rewarded for the effort he had exerted.
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