Secret Santa vs. Mysterious Santa

Yesterday, an unexpected thing happened: I got a package at work that didn’t contain DVDs, toner or various computer parts.

The return address was “Santa’s Workshop.” My only clue to where it came from was on the postage, which said that it was shipped from Castle Shannon. (And who knew that Santa’s Workshop was based so nearby!)

I opened it up and found a package full of cookies and possibly bread (or brownies or something … I haven’t been daring enough to open it up).

Now, I figure this is from a person on twitter … especially because one of my coworkers, who roams in the same twitter circles as I do, also received the same kind of package at work.

Let’s face it … getting an anonymous gift can be fun, like if you participate in a Secret Santa gift exchange and you have a rough idea of the personalities of the people participating.

But mysterious Santa … well, that’s a different beast. Someone knows where I work, looked up my work address, found out which floor I was on, and then sent it to me.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the idea and thought behind this delicious, delicious gift. It’s the basis of every other tween romance novel or chick flick for a reason … because it can be on the exciting side. But in this day and age of weird and batshit crazy people, getting a random package from someone claiming to be Santa can be unnerving.

I mean, remember during 9/11, when people were getting mailed anthrax in packages?

And even though I’m not hardcore in politics, I do work for a company that espouses right-wing ideology. How do I know that some far lefty didn’t decide to target me for an Exlax bombing? Hell, it could even be from an Occupy Pittsburgh protester who saw me dressed up as a reindeer and having my picture taken in their encampment during Santarchy. Oh wait, I haven’t written about that. I’ll talk about that later. But still, IT COULD BE THEM.

Mystery Santa has caused some controversy among my FB friends. I threw out a status update, and got varied reactions. Here’s some of the early comments:

Later comments ranged from “Oh, I see you got my baked goods made from feces” to flat out “There is NO WAY I would eat any of those.”

It does pose a morally interesting dilemma. Do you risk your safety over cookies that arrived at your office under mysterious circumstances, or do you say “Thanks but no thanks,” and toss out what could potentially be a package of perfectly good and delicious cookies? I imagine celebrities face this particular problem daily, with some taking the plunge (looking at you, Orsen Wells) and others tossing out the lot of them (looking for you, Calista Flockheart).

In the end, laziness won the day. I ate some. They are fantastic.

I’ll let you know if I manifest symptoms of anthrax later on.


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