“One postcred please,” the speaker said. It began to tick ominously. “Or in ten seconds I will notify the police.”

He passed the postcred over. The ticking stopped.

“We can do this without your kind,” the speaker said.

“One of these days,” Joe said wrathfully, “people like me will rise up and overthrow you, and the end of tyranny by the homeostatic machine will have arrived. The day of human values and compassion and simple warmth will return, and when that happens someone like myself who has gone through an ordeal and who genuinely needs hot coffee to pick him up and keep him functioning when he has to function will get the hot coffee whether he happens to have a postcred available or not.” He lifted the miniature pitcher of cream, then set it down. “And furthermore, your cream or milk or whatever it is, is sour.”

Philip K. Dick, Ubik pps.81-82