text: [Themes: Satire, Science Fiction, Horror, office, satire, violence, nonhuman protagonist]
  
  > look under the machine
  Getting down on your hands and knees and peering under the machine, you notice that one of the legs is slightly shorter than the other. A thin wooden shim has been wedged under the shorter leg, preventing the machine from wobbling.
  
  You also see a nickel which must have been dropped here earlier. You snooze, you lose, punk-ass, you think to yourself gleefully, pocketing the money.
  
  [You have just become a little bit less steamed.]
  
  > put the nickel in the machine
  The nickel disappears into the slot and rattles down into the guts of the machine.
  
  > Press j.
  The machine beeps at you -- not enough money!
  
  [You have just become a little bit more steamed.]
  
  > press change
  You are unable to.
  
  > examine the machine
  Like most vending machines, it is essentially a refrigerator-sized box with a glass front, behind which can be seen several rows of assorted treats. There is a panel of buttons to the side, beneath which is a slot for coins, a bill changer for paper money, and a cup for your change. Insert your money, make your selection, and your snack drops from the appropriate row into the receptacle bin at the bottom of the machine.
  
  > press the a.
  (the panel of buttons)
  The machine beeps at you -- not enough money!
  
  > examine the bill changer
  It says "Insert bill in any direction," but that is clearly a gross misrepresentation of the facts.
  
  > put the bill in the machine
  (the crumpled dollar bill in the vending machine)
  It isn't enough, sometimes, to simply know that your efforts are hopeless; sometimes you really have to watch yourself fail one more time -- just to drive the point home.
  
  Carefully, painstakingly, you smooth the crumpled bill as best you can, then gently prod one end of it into the bill changer. The mechanism inside catches it, drags it in and starts working it over. When it finally spits the bill back out with a self-satisfied buzzing sound, the dollar looks even more masticated than it did before.
  
  [You have just become a little bit more steamed.]
  
  > get shim
  You pry the shim out from under the vending machine, which wobbles a bit as the little wedge pops free.
  
  > look at the shim
  It's a thin wedge, made of wood.
  
  > pick up the machine
  That's hardly portable.
  
  > pull the machine
  You are unable to.
  
  > look at the coffee maker
  A simple device: push the black button on top, and it pisses a cupful of tepid nastiness into the little dispenser beneath. Not that you'd want it to. Furman's the only one who'll drink the revolting stuff.
  
  > Go north
  The restroom door wheezes shut behind you as you pass through. Predictably, the smoke detector goes off as soon as you walk through the door, cutting through your skull like a dull bone saw.
  
  Every wall, fixture and counter surface in this restroom is painted an intolerably bright, eye-bending nuclear orange. The reasoning behind this choice of decor is unclear -- perhaps the hope is that someone who is tense enough to crack walnuts with his ass cheeks isn't going to be spending lots of time on a toilet seat. Anyway, there's a sink and mirror in the north wall, and a stall to the east. Or you could just leave to the south.
  
  The plastic smoke detector is stuck to the center of the ceiling like a crazy orange limpet.
  
  The fire extinguisher is sitting in its usual corner, gathering dust.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  
  > examine the detector
  That piece of crap hasn't detected so much as a bugfart since the day they installed it. It only (and always) goes off whenever someone actually enters the bathroom, letting forth with a piercing shriek high enough to break up kidney stones. A further deterrent for anyone too comatose to be bothered by the paint, probably.
  
  That whine is killing you. Your head feels like it's trying to give birth to a crazed, pecking kiwi-bird. It's no good, you can't stay frosty here; desperately, half-blind from the swirling orange holocaust pressing in on you from all sides, you lurch to the door and stumble out into the office.
  
  The vending machine stands there silently. Mocking you.
  
  [You have just become a little bit more steamed.]
  
  > go to the south
  On the desk are a half-eaten nougat bar and some scattered papers.
  
  That lazy son of a bitch Benson is perched on his precious stool, leaning back against the files with his feet up on the desk like always.
  
  > take the bar
  "Hey!" snaps Benson. "Keep your hands off the nougat, buddy!"
  
  > examine papers
  Which do you mean, the scattered papers or the paperwork?
  
  > examine the scattered papers
  Benson habitually keeps his papers in a state of hopeless mess, scattered all over his desk.
  
  > examine the cabinets
  The filing cabinets cover the entire east wall. Their drawers are perpetually closed. You've never even seen Benson go into them; then again, you've never handed him a stamped request form, either.
  
  > read the scattered papers
  (first taking the scattered papers)
  You've got enough papers to push on your own desk without pushing any of Benson's.
  
  > go north
  The northwest corner is Furman's area. Everything is tucked away and tidy, which is exactly how that obsessive freak likes it. The photocopier squats over by the west wall, and a short corridor to the north leads to that bastard Biedermeyer's office.
  
  On the desk are a microfiche reader and a file request form.
  
  Furman's jacket is hanging neatly up on its hook, just like always.
  
  Furman himself is hunched over his precious microfiche reader, ignoring you completely.
  
  > ask Furman about the memo
  Furman frowns. "If you got a memo, it didn't come through me. And I refuse to believe that Biedermeyer would have sent you a message personally. Which means the memo is most likely unauthorized." He turns away from you with a sniff. "If I were you, I'd take it straight to Biedermeyer. I won't have anything to do with it."
  
  > look at the jacket
  Neat, creased and free of lint. It's enough to make you sick.
  
  > Examine form
  Benson won't let anyone check out files unless they hand him a stamped file request form. Of course, you're not authorized to keep forms on your own desk -- you're forced to beg them off that son of a bitch Furman. This one, however, might be free for the taking, if Furman doesn't catch you. It looks like this one's already been filled out.
  
  > get the form
  You deftly swipe the file request form from Furman's desk. He's so absorbed with his reader, he doesn't even notice. Serves him right, if he gets in trouble for losing it.
  
  [You have just become a little bit less steamed.]
  
  > read the form
  Benson won't let anyone check out files unless they hand him a stamped file request form. Of course, you're not authorized to keep forms on your own desk -- you're forced to beg them off that son of a bitch Furman. Or steal them, as the case may be. It looks like this one's already been filled out.
  
  > Stamp form
  (with the ink stamp)
  Carefully, you stamp the form right over the signature blank, pressing down good and hard to make it dark. If Benson doesn't look to closely, he'll never notice that Furman hasn't authorized it.
  
  > go to the south-east
  On the desk are a half-eaten nougat bar and some scattered papers.
  
  That lazy son of a bitch Benson is perched on his precious stool, leaning back against the files with his feet up on the desk like always.
  
  Someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around, and are startled to find that son of a bitch Furman away from his desk.
  
  "Excuse me," he says in his most irritated voice, "I was looking for that." He plucks the file request form from your hand. "It's my last one, and anyway you aren't authorized to use them."
  
  He sort of sniffs at you, then turns around and minces back to his desk.
  
  [You have just become a little bit more steamed.]
  
  > Examine bar
  It's disgusting; Benson's been gnawing on it for God knows how long, and the end is all soft and melted and covered with Benson's slobber.
  
  > eat the bar
  (first taking the half-eaten nougat bar)
  "Hey!" snaps Benson. "Keep your hands off the nougat, buddy!"
  
  Benson takes another bite of his nougat bar and sets it back on his desk, ruminating thoughtfully.
  
  > go to the north
  On the desk are a file request form and a microfiche reader.
  
  Furman's jacket is hanging neatly up on its hook, just like always.
  
  Furman himself is hunched over his precious microfiche reader, ignoring you completely.
  
  This short, empty corridor connects the main office area, to the south, with Biedermeyer's office, to the north.
  
  The door to Biedermeyer's office is closed.
  
  A shiver runs up your back. You never come here. No one ever comes here. You are finding it decidedly difficult to stay frosty.
  
  > open the door
  It seems to be locked.
  
  > knock on the door
  Timidly, you knock on the door. No one answers.
  
  > kick the door
  You wouldn't dare. Your knuckles seem to curdle at the very thought.
  
  > go to the south
  On the desk are a file request form and a microfiche reader.
  
  Furman's jacket is hanging neatly up on its hook, just like always.
  
  Furman himself is hunched over his precious microfiche reader, ignoring you completely.
  
  > look at the form
  Benson won't let anyone check out files unless they hand him a stamped file request form. Of course, you're not authorized to keep forms on your own desk -- you're forced to beg them off that son of a bitch Furman. Or steal them, as the case may be. It looks like this one's already been filled out. It's even been stamped.
  
  > take the form
  Taken.
  
  > examine reader
  Furman loves that reader; it's like his special toy. He never lets anyone else touch it -- says it's "too complicated," though it can't be that difficult if a terminal moron like Furman can operate it. Anyway, the only controls are a toggle switch and a small button.
  The microfiche reader is currently switched on.
  
  > go to the south-east
  On the desk are a half-eaten nougat bar and some scattered papers.
  
  That lazy son of a bitch Benson is perched on his precious stool, leaning back against the files with his feet up on the desk like always.
  
  Someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around, and are startled to find that son of a bitch Furman away from his desk.
  
  "Excuse me," he says in his most irritated voice, "I was looking for that." He plucks the file request form from your hand. "It's my last one, and anyway you aren't authorized to use them."
  
  He sort of sniffs at you, then turns around and minces back to his desk.
  
  > go to the north-west
  On the desk are a file request form and a microfiche reader.
  
  Furman's jacket is hanging neatly up on its hook, just like always.
  
  Furman himself is hunched over his precious microfiche reader, ignoring you completely.
  
  Furman whirs through some more text on the microfiche reader. He makes some clicking noises with his tongue, and scribbles down a few notes.
  
  > turn off the reader
  "Hands off," snaps Furman, slapping your hand away. "This is a delicate piece of equipment."
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a wooden shim, a memo, some paperwork, a little white bottle (which is closed), a little gray bottle (which is closed), an ink stamp and a crumpled dollar bill.
  
  > press the button
  Which do you mean, the black button or the panel of buttons?
  
  > press the black button
  The coffee maker shudders as though straining to pass a gallstone, and after a moment a plastic cup drops into its small dispenser. Then, with a horrible, thick gurgling sound, it spews a generous amount of terrible-smelling coffee into the cup. Voila; your swill is served.
  
  > get the coffee
  (the nasty coffee)
  Taken.
  
  > open the white bottle
  You open the little white bottle, revealing some gray pills.
  
  > take the gray pill
  You toss one into your mouth and swallow it dry. It scrapes down your throat like a chunk of gravel.
  
  > put the gray pill in the coffee
  You drop one of the gray pills into the coffee, where it instantly dissolves into the murky depths.
  
  > Go southwest
  On the desk are an in-tray (which is empty), an out-tray (which is empty) and a telephone.
  
  > Go north
  On the desk are a file request form and a microfiche reader.
  
  Furman's jacket is hanging neatly up on its hook, just like always.
  
  Furman himself is hunched over his precious microfiche reader, ignoring you completely.
  
  Furman whirs through some more text on the microfiche reader. "Oh, ho ho," he chortles. He winks disgustingly at you and lays his finger alongside his nose.
  
  > give the coffee to Furman
  "Hey, thanks," Furman says, hardly even glancing at you. He swills down some coffee, wipes his chin with the back of his hand, puts the cup on his desk and turns back to his microfiche.
  
  > Wait
  Time passes.
  
  Furman takes another sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving the microfiche screen.
  
  > examine the coffee
  The coffee is thick and sludgy looking, with a thin, oily film skimming the surface.
  
  > open the gray bottle
  You open the little gray bottle, revealing some white pills.
  
  > put the white pill in the coffee
  You drop one of the white pills into the coffee, where it instantly dissolves into the murky depths. Furman, absorbed with his microfiche reader, doesn't even notice.
  
  Furman takes another sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving the microfiche screen.
  
  > Wait
  Time passes.
  
  Furman whirs through some more text on the microfiche reader. "Hmm," he mutters, "very interesting..."
  
  > open the grey bottle
  That's already open.
  
  Furman leans back from the microfiche, rubs his eyes and lets forth a jaw-cracking yawn. "Man, am I beat," he says, and then pitches headfirst across his desk like a pole-axed buffalo.
  
  Clearly, your pharmacopeial cocktail must have shagged him -- the whites are obviously the sleeping pills. Potent ones, by the look of it.
  
  [You have just become a little bit more frosty.]
  
  > get the form
  Taken.
  
  > Go southeast
  Nothing. Not even a molecule of pocket lint.
  
  On the desk are a half-eaten nougat bar and some scattered papers.
  
  That lazy son of a bitch Benson is perched on his precious stool, leaning back against the files with his feet up on the desk like always.
  
  > give the form to Benson
  Benson takes the file request form, squints at it, turns it upside-down, then looks you over suspiciously. He checks the form again. He scratches his head.
  
  "Well," he says finally, "all right... but try to stamp it closer to the edge next time, will you?"
  
  He turns his back to you and starts digging through the file cabinets.
  
  [You have just become a little bit more frosty.]
  
  > take the stool
  "Take a hike," snaps Benson. "I need this stool to reach the high files. You want one, get your own."
  
  Benson turns back to you, shaking his head. "I can't find that file anywhere -- hey!" He leans over and snatches the sticky nougat bar from you. "Get your own, if you're that hungry!"
  
  Benson stretches his arms noisily.
  
  [You have just become a little bit less frosty.]
  
  > eat the bar
  You take a deep breath and scarf down the nougat bar. Almost immediately you begin to gag -- the stuff is essentially nothing but sawdust and cushion stuffing coated with a thin layer of brown, edible paste. But you force it down anyway, gobbling the whole thing in a matter of seconds.
  
  Benson turns back to you, shaking his head. "I can't find that file anywhere in our archives," he says. "Sorry."
  
  [You have just become a little bit less frosty.]
  
  > get the key
  Taken.
  
  [You have just become a little bit more frosty.]
  
  > examine the machine
  The machine is lying face down, its innards smashed and scattered across the floor. A ragged hole has been hacked into the back of the machine like some sort of crude, mechanical nephrectomy scar, providing access to the inner workings.
  
  > examine the workings
  It's a lot of mechanical stuff, mostly beyond you. Anyway, it never worked right when it was intact, so why should it be of any use now?
  
  > examine Benson
  Benson is finished; the heavy vending machine squashed him like bug under a brick. He lies face up and spread-eagled, half-under the vending machine, his glasses slightly askew.
  
  > take the glasses
  Gingerly you tug at the glasses, but they don't seem to want to come off. Looking closely, you see that this is because they seem to be attached directly to Benson's flesh, right behind the ears.
  
  Pulling a little harder, you notice that the skin is in fact giving a little bit, pulling away from Benson's head like the edge of a rubber mask. And underneath the edge of skin, you can see...
  
  ... you can see something blue.
  
  At that precise moment, Biedermeyer walks up behind you.
  
  "Ah, thank you, but there's no need to mess with that," he says. Instinctively you jerk your hand away from the glasses and drop your gaze to the floor.
  
  "I know you want to help and all but, well... you know how it is. Everything's fine here, everything's under control," says Biedermeyer awkwardly. "Your concern is appreciated, but there's, uh, there's really nothing more you can do." Effortlessly, he lifts the vending machine with one hand and pulls Benson's corpse out from under it with the other. "Go ahead and get on back to work now. Thank you." And he hauls off Benson as casually as if he had just cleaned up a spilled soda.
  
  [You have just become a little bit less frosty.]
  
  > go to the south
  On the desk are some scattered papers.
  
  You can see the stool here.
  
  > take the stool
  Taken.
  
  > read scattered
  (first taking the scattered papers)
  You've got enough papers to push on your own desk without pushing any of Benson's.
  
  > Search scattered
  You gingerly lift up a couple of sheets of paper, and discover a pair of scissors underneath.
  
  > Go east
  On the desk are a pair of scissors and some scattered papers.
  
  > examine the cabinets
  The filing cabinets cover the entire east wall. Their drawers are perpetually closed. You've never even seen Benson go into them; then again, you've never handed him a stamped request form, either.
  
  Well, except for today, anyway.
  
  > search the cabinets
  Eagerly, you pull open a drawer and start riffling through the manila folders inside, but all the folders in that drawer are empty. You slam the drawer shut and open another one. Those folders are empty, too. Drawer after drawer, each filled with manila folders, each manila folder blank and empty. These worthless filing cabinets have nothing in them, nothing in them at all.
  
  [You have just become a little bit less frosty.]
  
  > open the drawer
  It's just empty folders. All of it. There's absolutely nothing in here.
  
  > look at the scissors
  They're blunt scissors. They only let you use blunt scissors here.
  
  > Go north
  On the desk are Furman, a plastic cup (in which is some nasty coffee) and a microfiche reader.
  
  Furman's jacket is hanging neatly up on its hook, just like always.
  
  > examine reader
  Furman loves that reader; it's like his special toy. He never lets anyone else touch it -- says it's "too complicated," though it can't be that difficult if a terminal moron like Furman can operate it. Anyway, the only controls are a toggle switch and a small button.
  The microfiche reader is currently switched on.
  
  > examine furman
  Furman is sprawled across his desk, totally gone. His glasses seem to have gone crooked.
  
  > take the glasses
  Time to get to the bottom of this, goddammit -- you give the glasses a determined yank, stripping away a large swatch of Furman's face along with it.
  
  The head underneath is small and perfectly round, like a shot-put ball. The skin is a uniform, creamy, day-dreamy blue. And the eyes...
  
  "Go back to your desk now," Biedermeyer says brusquely, stepping between you and the body. He slips the glasses from your numb fingers. "There's work to be done."
  
  You turn away, stomach heaving, as that bastard Biedermeyer bundles away the body. When you finally look back, both Biedermeyer and Furman are gone. As if nothing had ever happened.
  
  [You have just become a little bit less frosty.]
  
  > Examine toggle
  It's a simple toggle switch with a symbol at either end, like this:
  
  !
  X
  
  The switch is currently pointing toward 'O'.
  
  > search it
  Nothing. Not even a molecule of pocket lint.
  
  > take it
  You pull Furman's jacket down, leaving the empty hanger dangling on the hook.
  
  > examine reader
  Furman loves that reader; it's like his special toy. He never lets anyone else touch it -- says it's "too complicated," though it can't be that difficult if a terminal moron like Furman can operate it. Anyway, the only controls are a toggle switch and a small button.
  The microfiche reader is currently switched on.
  
  > look in reader
  Finally! A peek at Furman's precious little secrets...
  
  What the hell...?!
  
  The screen is filled with nothing but line after line of scrambled mumbo-jumbo. There's nothing to this piece-of-crap microfiche reader at all. That son of a bitch Furman's been playing you for a sucker this whole time!
  
  [You have just become a little bit more steamed.]
  
  > examine the small button
  It's a simple button, labeled with a symbol like this:
  
  >>
  
  > look at the machine
  Which do you mean, the microfiche reader or the photocopier?
  
  > examine the photocopier
  The photocopier is a hulking technological monstrosity that you've never been able to satisfactorily figure out. It's got about fourteen billion buttons on it and the only one you know how to use is the big green one marked 'COPY'. There's also a lid on top (paper goes in), and a small hopper off to one side (paper comes out). That's as familiar as you've ever cared to (or are ever likely to) get with this thing.
  
  Currently, the lid is closed and the hopper is empty.
  
  > open the photocopier
  You open the copier. There is nothing on the glass.
  
  > put the bill in photocopier
  You put the crumpled dollar bill on the glass.
  
  > press the button
  (the big green button)
  The machine beeps at you; it won't copy anything unless you close the lid first.
  
  > close the lid
  You close the photocopier.
  
  That's already closed.
  
  > press the button
  (the big green button)
  The copier vibrates ominously as its inner workings begin to churn. A ghastly light seeps out from under the edges of the lid, there is a terrible noise like a wet canvas being sucked through a mail slot...
  
  ... and a copy of the dollar bill drops out the other side and lands in the hopper.
  
  > open the lid
  You open the copier. On the glass is the original crumpled dollar bill.
  
  > take the bill
  (the original crumpled dollar bill)
  Taken.
  
  > examine copy
  (the big green button)
  Big, green and friendly. You can't go wrong with 'COPY'.
  
  > take the copy
  (the big green button)
  That's fixed in place.
  
  > cut the copy of the the dollar bill with the scissors
  Carefully, you cut the excess paper from around the image of the dollar bill. The end product is a little ragged around the edges, but otherwise not too shabby.
  
  [You have just become a little bit less steamed.]
  
  > Go northeast
  If you feel like visiting that bastard Biedermeyer, you can go north; otherwise you can wander around the rest of the office to the east, south or southeast.
  
  > go to the east
  The vending machine is lying face down and smashed amidst a pile of nougat bars and Beechnut gum.
  
  There's a ragged hole hacked into the east wall, where the vending machine used to stand.
  
  > put the dollar bill in the machine
  Why bother?
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying the original crumpled dollar bill, a hanger, Furman's jacket, a pair of scissors, the stool, a shiny key, a wooden shim, a memo, some paperwork, a little white bottle (which is open), inside which are some gray pills, a little gray bottle (which is open), inside which are some white pills and an ink stamp.
  
  > look in the hole
  Which do you mean, the hole in the wall or the broken vending machine?
  
  > look in the hole in the the wall
  You hunker down and peer into the hole. It appears to go all the way through the wall, but you can't see anything but empty darkness on the other side.
  
  > go east
  You can go north to the restroom if you want, though you might want to save yourself some agony and just drive something sharp into your bladder, instead. Otherwise, there's west, southwest or south.
  
  > examine the hole in the wall
  It's about six inches across, just big enough to put your fist through. It's in roughly the same place that the hole in the vending machine would be, if the vending machine were still standing against the wall.
  
  > examine the machine
  The machine is lying face down, its innards smashed and scattered across the floor. A ragged hole has been hacked into the back of the machine like some sort of crude, mechanical nephrectomy scar, providing access to the inner workings.
  
  > examine the inner workings
  It's a lot of mechanical stuff, mostly beyond you. Anyway, it never worked right when it was intact, so why should it be of any use now?
  
  > go north
  The restroom door wheezes shut behind you as you pass through. Predictably, the smoke detector goes off as soon as you walk through the door, cutting through your skull like a dull bone saw.
  
  The plastic smoke detector is stuck to the center of the ceiling like a crazy orange limpet.
  
  The fire extinguisher is sitting in its usual corner, gathering dust.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  
  > look at the hanger
  It's a hanger. Big deal.
  
  That whine is killing you. Your head feels like it's trying to give birth to a crazed, pecking kiwi-bird. It's no good, you can't stay frosty here; desperately, half-blind from the swirling orange holocaust pressing in on you from all sides, you lurch to the door and stumble out into the office.
  
  The vending machine is lying face down and smashed amidst a pile of nougat bars and Beechnut gum.
  
  There's a ragged hole hacked into the east wall, where the vending machine used to stand.
  
  > get the fire extinguisher
  Grunting, you pick up the heavy fire extinguisher, hefting it once or twice to get your grip.
  
  That whine is killing you. Your head feels like it's trying to give birth to a crazed, pecking kiwi-bird. It's no good, you can't stay frosty here; desperately, half-blind from the swirling orange holocaust pressing in on you from all sides, you lurch to the door and stumble out into the office.
  
  The vending machine is lying face down and smashed amidst a pile of nougat bars and Beechnut gum.
  
  There's a ragged hole hacked into the east wall, where the vending machine used to stand.
  
  > drop the stool
  The restroom door wheezes shut behind you as you pass through. Predictably, the smoke detector goes off as soon as you walk through the door, cutting through your skull like a dull bone saw.
  
  The plastic smoke detector is stuck to the center of the ceiling like a crazy orange limpet.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  Dropped.
  
  That whine is killing you. Your head feels like it's trying to give birth to a crazed, pecking kiwi-bird. It's no good, you can't stay frosty here; desperately, half-blind from the swirling orange holocaust pressing in on you from all sides, you lurch to the door and stumble out into the office.
  
  The vending machine is lying face down and smashed amidst a pile of nougat bars and Beechnut gum.
  
  There's a ragged hole hacked into the east wall, where the vending machine used to stand.
  
  > stand on the stool
  The restroom door wheezes shut behind you as you pass through. Predictably, the smoke detector goes off as soon as you walk through the door, cutting through your skull like a dull bone saw.
  
  The plastic smoke detector is stuck to the center of the ceiling like a crazy orange limpet.
  
  You can also see the stool here.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  You get onto the stool.
  
  That whine is killing you. Your head feels like it's trying to give birth to a crazed, pecking kiwi-bird. It's no good, you can't stay frosty here; desperately, half-blind from the swirling orange holocaust pressing in on you from all sides, you lurch to the door and stumble out into the office.
  
  The vending machine is lying face down and smashed amidst a pile of nougat bars and Beechnut gum.
  
  There's a ragged hole hacked into the east wall, where the vending machine used to stand.
  
  > go to the north
  The restroom door wheezes shut behind you as you pass through. Predictably, the smoke detector goes off as soon as you walk through the door, cutting through your skull like a dull bone saw.
  
  The plastic smoke detector is stuck to the center of the ceiling like a crazy orange limpet.
  
  You can also see the stool here.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  
  > stand on stool
  You get onto the stool.
  
  That whine is killing you. Your head feels like it's trying to give birth to a crazed, pecking kiwi-bird. It's no good, you can't stay frosty here; desperately, half-blind from the swirling orange holocaust pressing in on you from all sides, you lurch to the door and stumble out into the office.
  
  The vending machine is lying face down and smashed amidst a pile of nougat bars and Beechnut gum.
  
  There's a ragged hole hacked into the east wall, where the vending machine used to stand.
  
  > take the gum
  What the hell for? It's worthless garbage. Let that bastard Biedermeyer clean it up, if he wants.
  
  > wait
  Time passes.
  
  Hmm. A vaguely pleasant tingling sensation is crawling up your scalp from the base of your skull. Must be those pills kicking in.
  
  > Go north
  The restroom door wheezes shut behind you as you pass through. Predictably, the smoke detector goes off as soon as you walk through the door, cutting through your skull like a dull bone saw.
  
  The plastic smoke detector is stuck to the center of the ceiling like a crazy orange limpet.
  
  You can also see the stool here.
  
  The tingling spreads throughout your entire head, making it all warm and numb and kind of floaty.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  
  > stand on stool
  You get onto the stool.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  
  > open the detector
  That's not something you can open.
  
  The tingling is starting to fade.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  
  > take the detector
  That's fixed in place.
  
  The tingling is starting to fade.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  
  > examine the detector
  That piece of crap hasn't detected so much as a bugfart since the day they installed it. It only (and always) goes off whenever someone actually enters the bathroom, letting forth with a piercing shriek high enough to break up kidney stones. A further deterrent for anyone too comatose to be bothered by the paint, probably.
  
  The tingling is starting to fade.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  
  > turn the detector off
  It's just a featureless disk of orange plastic, no way to turn the damn thing on or off.
  
  You're back to normal again, unfortunately, and the screaming is slowly pushing its way into your head again.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  
  > hit the detector with the extinguisher
  Furiously, you whale on the smoke detector until the plastic casing splits and cracks open. Its wiry innards hang in sagging loops like the guts of an eviscerated cow.
  
  You're back to normal again, unfortunately, and the screaming is slowly pushing its way into your head again.
  
  The smoke detector is still shrieking.
  
  > cut the wires
  (with the scissors)
  The wires hiss and smoke and spray sparks in your face as you relentlessly gnaw through them with the blunt scissors -- but perseverance and a frosty attitude pay off in the end as the last wire snaps, and the smoke detector falls silent.
  
  [You have just become a little bit more frosty.]
  
  > look
  Restroom (on the stool)
  Every wall, fixture and counter surface in this restroom is painted an intolerably bright, eye-bending nuclear orange. The reasoning behind this choice of decor is unclear -- perhaps the hope is that someone who is tense enough to crack walnuts with his ass cheeks isn't going to be spending lots of time on a toilet seat. Anyway, there's a sink and mirror in the north wall, and a stall to the east. Or you could just leave to the south.
  
  The gutted smoke detector hangs limply from the ceiling, its innards exposed and dangling.
  
  > examine the mirror
  You're looking sharp as ever.
  
  > examine the sink
  It doesn't work. It's never worked. If you want anything to drink around here, you'll have to brave the coffee.
  
  > go to the east
  You'll have to get off the stool first.
  
  > get off the stool
  You get off the stool.