Because mail service at my apartment complex sucks is why

At the height of the Satanic Panic, a made-for-TV movie called Do You Know The Muffin Man? was released, which, for reasons that now escape me, we had to watch in my high school Health class. “Based on true events,” the plot focuses on an idyllic, suburban daycare center clandestinely run by a depraved, animal-sacrificing (I remember them killing a cat or a hamster or something) devil cult.

Man, I miss the 80s.

Towards the end of the film, the cops burst into the center (or maybe it was the secret cave under the center?) to find the children all guiltily standing around a pentagram. The cops are like, “Egad!” and arrest the daycare worker on duty (who’s wearing a red, hooded robe and waving a knife around), and right before they drag her away, she pops off with, “We’re rehearsing a play.” But the cops totally don’t buy it.

The point here is that I feel exactly like that daycare worker whenever I have a package delivered to my office, and one of my co-workers walks in as I’m opening it. I’m just going to start telling everyone in advance that I handle props for a very experimental community theatre.