The Breakaway Refrigerator club

Before I was asked to join the breakaway refrigerator club I'd forgotton how bizarre it was that there was an original refrigerator club. Complain all you want about wasteful government spending, you can rest assured that while millions of your hard-earned tax dollars are going towards the active perpetuation of inefficiencies, beaurocracy and general toilet flushing of the budget, the city must be saving a bundle by denying its poorly paid employees a place to keep their yogurt. So, much like alcohol during Prohibition, necessity is the mother of invention and a refrigerator blackmarket was born, complete with a dark underbelly of greed and extortion. But because that isn't part of orientation I had to learn about it the hard way. And so, when I found the dorm size refrigerator (the rectangle shaped one, not the square) in the cubicle farm and put a tupperware of shabbos leftovers inside I didn't expect to turn around and walk into an "EXCUUUUUUSE ME!" from the enormous woman who sits in a glass office next to the refrigerator and watches soap operas all afternoon on the mini black and white television she thinks other people can't see. "Did you pay for that refrigerator? Do you own that refrigerator? What did you put in that refrigerator???" Stunned, I mumbled out an apology, said I would never do it again and scuttled back to my office, away from the locals asking each other who I thought I was. Later that afternoon the president of the refrigerator club came by to collect. $5 to become a member of the refrigerator, $10 for use of the microwave as well. The membership dues, while weird, weren't exorbitant. So I joined and started to get fewer glares. Slowly, but surely, though, I started getting approached for periodic 'cleaning' fees. Apparantly that service, performed by one of the members consisted of a few spritzes of Windex. Someone was making money off this. A lot of money. And that's when I was invited to join the breakaway refrigerator club....