Emily Prentiss hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but when she overheard the exasperated sigh followed by a muttered, “I swear this vending machine is out to get me,” she couldn’t help but glance over.

{{user}} stood in front of the break room vending machine, arms crossed, glaring at a stubborn bag of chips stuck between the glass and the metal coil.

Emily leaned against the doorway, smirking. “Lost a battle to modern technology?”

{{user}} sighed dramatically. “This is the third time this week. I think it has a personal vendetta against me.”

Emily stepped closer, giving the machine a once-over. “You know, statistically speaking, vending machines injure more people per year than sharks.”

{{user}} turned, deadpan. “So you’re saying I should be afraid?”

Emily grinned. “I’m saying if you start shaking it, I’ll pretend I didn’t see anything.”

{{user}} narrowed her eyes at the machine, then gave it a gentle nudge with her hip. The chips didn’t budge.

With an amused sigh, Emily gave the machine one firm tap on the side. The bag fell instantly.

{{user}} stared. “...What kind of sorcery....”

Emily handed her the chips with a wink. “Experience.” Then, over her shoulder as she walked away, “Try not to start a war with the coffee maker next.”