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I went to go get some coffee (little cream, little sugar - thanks for asking) and within the kitchen I first saw someone work the caramel sauce bottle like an expensive whore. That effer was going get his caramel sauce and he was going to get a lot of it. I then saw a kid perusing the vending machines.

Now I thought to myself, school should be in session shouldn't it be? We're not starting a child labor program are we? We will never hear the end of that. Then again, it does give a solution to that nagging child care question...

No, someone brought their kid to work, I'm sure of it. And to sweeten the deal they tossed 'em a buck to go grab a bag of TGIFriday's Bacon and Cheddar Potato Skins to nibble on while staring at the nondescript walls of mom or dad's cubicle.

I remember going to work with dad occasionally. Dad worked in an office which sat right off of a warehouse. Sometimes me and my brother would play some sort of maze game, running around the stacked crates and boxes, inhaling forklift exhaust.

This kid seemed to be having a problem with the vending machine. He said, "no" and banged on the keys which typically allow for the ingestion of bagged heart disease, of hermetically sealed diabetes. I wanted to tell him that continually punching those keys wasn't going to get him anywhere. And while I had his attention, I also wanted to let him know that hitting the elevator or crosswalk button once was all it took; things did not work any faster the more times you punched the buttons. I decided not to lecture someone else's child and finished stirring my beverage.

The kid turned and looked at me with those sad, little kid eyes. He was trying to implore me with only his eyes. "I didn't get my snack," they seemed to say. "My daddy's poor and this is the only thing that I get to eat for a whole week. Plus I have to share it with my stupid sister who uses Papermate pens as Barbies. Because we're poor."

I was being worked by a kid. I simply shrugged and walked out of the kitchen. But then it occurred to me that he may just live here in the building, tricking people into replacing vending machine money that never existed, living off of pastries left over after meetings and bathing in the sinks that run automatically when your hand trips the sensor. This was the much heralded Wolf Child of Utah Avenue.