It so happened that there was once a student. Like many of his kind, he was buffeted by the powerful forces of Scheduling, such that one day of his week stood apart from all the rest in its rigor. Such was his Hell Day, and his Hell Day was every Thursday.

Such was the nature of this day: at the hour of ten, there was a project group meeting, and yea it did last several hours. Though optional, it was not to be missed for fear of incurring the wrath of a Poor Grade. This was followed by an hour for lunch, which the student took at home, as the vendors in the student union charged prices that were muchly unjust, and fit only for those with parents of richness.

This was followed by a class, which did last exactly two hours and never a second more or less, for its teacher was of the punctual type who, in a less enlightened era, might have run a bank. Annoyance was thusly caused, as another class began immediately thereafter, lasting not less than three additional hours, and yea it was across campus.

Following upon this second class was work of the student kind, which was like unto slavery but with a worse health care package. It was not until break time at this job, which came not earlier than ten of the PM, which the student was able to eat the meager dinner he had deposited in the fridge earlier.

As such, the snack during the second of the two classes was of utmost importance. For its salty or sweet snacks, coupled with a liquid candy bar of the soft drinky kind, would provide the badly needed energy to see the student through to dinner. He would always set aside not less than two dollars and twenty-five cents for this feast out of his meager budget.

But yea, there came a time when the student did approach the snack machines in the lounge and inserted his currency, only to find a most distressing prospect. For his dollar bills were rejected, though they be crisp and new as the day they were printed. The machines demanded of him an offering of EXACT CHANGE instead.

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