Rusty's Diary, Vol. 2: The Day I Lost Faith in Humanity...Again.

Today started like any other:

Woke up under the pinball machine at Dive Bar Mooresville. Stole half a slice of pizza from a patron who “went to the bathroom” (rookie mistake). Hid from the new bartender because he “wants to take a photo of me for the ‘gram.”

Then it happened.

The Incident at Table 4.

Let me set the scene.

Four humans. All ordering the same drink—vodka soda with lime.

That’s already suspicious behavior. You don’t trust a group that’s too coordinated.

One of them asks for “arcade game recommendations.”

Oh, I’ve got recommendations.

I tell them about the real classics: the Street Fighter machine with a joystick so sticky you have to commit your whole soul to a punch, or the pool table where the 8 ball occasionally disappears into another dimension.

But no. They wanted

“something with low stakes and cute graphics.”

So they pick the claw machine.

The one I live in sometimes.

The one I’ve been protecting from grabby hands since 2021.

I warn them: "Nobody beats the claw. It decides your fate."

They laugh. They don’t listen.

First attempt: complete failure. They grab at a rubber duck, miss entirely, and somehow pick up a candy wrapper from opening day.

Second attempt: they win. They win. A plush toy raccoon—MY likeness—from the back row.

They’re all squealing like they just discovered fire.

I can feel my authority slipping.

So I do the only thing a raccoon of principle can do.

I sneak over, “accidentally” spill a drink near the prize chute, and walk away before anyone notices.

Within minutes, the plush is soaked.

It smells like rum and soda now.

The humans are devastated.

The plush? Serves him right.

Later, management asks if I had anything to do with it.

I tell them,

"Do I look like the kind of raccoon who sabotages claw machine wins?"

They didn’t answer, which I take as a yes.

Anyway, Table 4 left early, muttering something about “weird vibes” and “that raccoon has anger issues.”

They’re not wrong.

—R.B.