I was at the local library, planning to work on a school essay when the acid took hold of me. I lined up to the cafeteria queue, where a nameless barista, dressed as a cowboy, was operating the coffee machine. I stared at the barista's grubby polydactyly hands with a total of twelve fingers. Suddenly, I heard a loud bang and the coffee machine broke.
"I am sorry, sir, but the coffee machine is broken." the barista said.
"Is this a game to you? I need that coffee!" I sneered at the barista.
"Sorry, but our mechanical repair officer missed his train, and I don't know how to fix the machine." The barista apologised.
"But, there must be someone with suitable skills around?" I asked.
"How about you try?" the barista suggested.
Now, this was a peculiar suggestion. I don't know how to fix a broken coffee machine, especially not when off my head on acid. But I realised that this must be the divine plan, so I had to agree to the suggestion.
"Okay. Challenge accepted. I will fix your coffee machine on two conditions." I stated.
"Please tell me. There is a long queue of angry decaffeinated authors, and I fear for my safety!" The barista pleaded.
"Firstly, we need to set the mood. Change the background music to Cupid's Letters by Beige Backpack." I requested
"Is that a real song or are you taking the piss at me?" The barista replied.
"You'll find it on YouTube," I replied, realising that it was time for the world to experience my exceptional musical creation.
"I found it." The barista said. He turned on the song and gave me an unwarranted disapproving look. Clearly, he wasn't a man who appreciated great music.
"Ah. Music to my ears!" I replied and smiled blissfully.
"Okay, you psycho. What is your second request to fix the damn machine?" The barista sneered.
"I need you to open this can of pungent smelt fish. "I replied and handed the barista a can of the infamous Swedish dish, surströmming.
The barista opened the can, and the rotten smell caused him to run off to the toilet. Such a weakling! Smelling the infamous dish, I realised that I wasn't hungry anymore, and I left the fish untouched.
I jumped over the counter to start my career as a coffee machine repairman. I saw a great career ahead of me, but it all came to naught, as I passed out.
I woke up a few hours later in police custody. Apparently, my can of surströmming had caused fear of a chemical terrorist attack as Australians are not accustomed to the smell. Instead of becoming the hero of the day, I was slapped with a hefty fine for police call-out fees and vandalism of a coffee machine. So much for trying to help!