I went to work in the office today because that’s part of pretending the world is entirely normal. Commerce and capitalism continue even as society marches slowly toward the abyss.

Anyway.

I went to work in the office. I get there early. Sometimes, when it’s just me, I don’t even turn on the lights. I work in the dark, with just my laptop and monitors lighting my desk. I can watch the sky lighten. I can feel the city wake.

Part of getting there early is the opportunity to forage without interruption. Yesterday, I found a Rice Krispie Treat in a package made to look like a cartoon Frankenstein. Last week, I found a Little Debbie snack cake shaped like a pumpkin.

Today, I found a bowl of popcorn balls.

These were not the popcorn balls of my youth. These were perfectly round, factory made, packaged with the calorie counts and ingredients printed on the outside.

I brought an extra back to my desk to give to one of my coworkers who was also there absurdly early and who does not mind that I don’t turn on the lights.

I’m GenX and old enough to remember a time before we had to have our trick-or-treat haul x-rayed lest we find razor blades in apples or staples in our Snickers.

I remember clearly the struggle of the homemade popcorn ball vs. plastic pumpkin treat repository. There’s no way that’s going in there. You’re absolutely going to scrape your knuckles if you try and then if you cry, everyone has to go home and Halloween’s over.

The popcorn ball would nearly always come from a lady your grandparents’ age. If you were lucky, it was covered in plastic wrap. It was undoubtedly so stale that there was no way to tell if it had been made for this Halloween or one past.

And you took it because it was a Halloween treasure. And you tried to stuff it into the pumpkin.

And it was then, as children, we learned the concept of futility.