Sign I am very much immersed in Jim's book: After a great swim at the YMCA on a hot day, the vending machine fails to dispense a pack of Swedish fish. After I pound (lightly) on the glass, Charlie does the same. "Come on, machine, give it up!" I say. And pound more.
"You're breaking it," says the woman at the reception desk with a certain rise in her voice. She had been tut-tut-tutting about the imminent closing of this YMCA branch to two mothers.
"Swedish fish," says Charlie, looking longingly through the glass door.
"Yeah, there's one way to make it work," I say. I smooth out another dollar bill and insert it. Down falls the original pack of Swedish fish, followed by (not wanted, from a dentist's perspective) pack #2. I show Charlie where to push in the metal door and he pulls out the two packs. And walks to the car with a big smile, having gotten two for the price of two.
As I back out the black car, I realize that I was actually on the verge of telling the poor vending machine "C'mon already, cough it up!".