House vs. the Pop Machine
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to House (other than my own story ideas thankyouverymuch). And I have never personally hacked a pop machine. I may have printed off some directions on how to do it . . . but that's it!
mdmdmdmdmdmdmdmd
Greg House furrowed his brow in concentration as his pencil deftly scratched the piece of paper in front of him. Once the score was tallied up, he set down the pencil and grabbed the over-sized red tennis ball he kept on his desk. Leaning back in his chair House began tossing it back and forth in his hands.
Twelve dollars.
Eight cans of pop.
All were lost to him as a result of the stupid pop machine in the staff lounge on the pediatrics floor of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. House supposed he should have quit trying to get a can sooner or at least informed one of the maintenance staff so they could get a service guy in to look at it. But he had seen other people get pop out of the machine in between his attempts and he had tried every selection.
House swiveled his chair around so he could look out the window behind his desk. Maybe if he broke into the pop machine and just took all the cans it owed him . . . nah, he wouldn't be able to carry all of them and if anyone saw him . . . no, scratch that. He scrolled through a list of options ranging from having Eric Foreman break into the machine to something involving nitroglycerin before remembering he had seen one of the nurses get a key from the cupboard above the fridge when some of her money had been eaten by the machine. She had opened the machine and simply retrieved the pop she had selected.
But, again, he couldn't take eight cans of pop in any sort of a discreet fashion.
But what if --? Turning to his computer, House typed in the URL for his favourite on-line search engine and entered a few key words.
Excellent, he thought with a half-grin as the search results appeared on the screen.
mdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmd
"Did you notice anything . . . weird with the pop machine in pediatrics?"
House set down the can of pop he was drinking on the conference room table. "Nope," he replied, flipping open the chart for his team's newest patient as James Wilson sat down across from him.
"Really." Wilson grabbed House's pop and took a swig before returning it. "Well the contraband stuff tastes the same." House only grunted, a highlighter pen now clenched between his teeth. "My only question is, why?" continued Wilson. "I mean most people would just take the money and, well, run."
"Hardy har har." House thwacked Wilson with his cane for extra emphasis, smirking when the oncologist yelped in surprise. "I got my money and I got out. But not without interest."
"Interest?"
"D-uh." House closed the file and polished off his pop before continuing. "All the energy I expended putting the money in the machine; the trauma of the lost pop; concocting my brilliant plan . . . yeah, that's about it." Pushing himself up from his seat, House made his way over to the small fridge and pulled out two cans of pop before resuming his seat. He tossed one to Wilson, who easily caught it.
"You know Cuddy will suspect you of tampering with the price on that machine," said Wilson as he carefully popped the tab on his can.
"And of doing something that benefits other people outside of the realm of medicine?" House opened his can and took a long drink. "You're sure those joints were for a patient?" he added.
Wilson chuckled. "Good point." The two man sat in companionable silence for a few moments before Wilson asked, "Any chance you could 'fix' the machine on the oncology floor?"