"I passed through the seven levels of the Candy Cane forest, through the sea of swirly twirly gum drops, and then I walked through the Lincoln Tunnel." - Buddy, Elf
Stalking the halls of the office, mercilessly, instinctively. Follow your nose. Don't make any sudden movements. Peering over the fabric-skinned wooden divider you see them there, gathered around a plate of cookies, pecking at them like vicious chickens. There is little room for error. You look for a diversion... a fire alarm, a phone to page them with, something... Then, suddenly, they notice you. Your heart skips a beat, your life flashes before your eyes. Soon you are the plate of cookies.
There is no shame in poaching tasty treats throughout the office - tis the season, right? I am a connoisseur of cubicle cookies, public pastries, communal cakes, etc...
Earlier this week, I stumbled upon a basket of treats... rather, I was presented with it - like an Oscar. This is the most elusive type of treat, the delivered good. I was immediately posed with a dilemma: to secret this new found booty, or to share. It was a painful choice...
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