Dean Kaufold looked out his office window and did a double-take. Had he read his calendar wrong? Was the semester really going by so quickly? He shook his head, grabbed the bowl of candy from the reception desk.
So many trick-or-treaters! And such creative costumes! And what a treat that they came by Huntsman hall. They never had in the past.
When he reached the door, his confusion turned to bafflement. Some of these youngsters weren’t actually so young. And they weren’t yelling “Trick or treat”; they were chanting “Sick Deceit!” and then something about capitalism. He looked at his candy bowl, looked at crowd before him, then back at the candy bowl. He opened the door.
“I don’t suppose you’d like some candy?”
“YOU EAT CANDY IN THE BILLIONAIRE SHRINE WHILE WE WAIT HUNGRY IN UNEMPLOYMENT LINES!” came the response.
“We’re not trick-or-treaters,” said a bearded, bespectacled man who appeared to be the group’s leader. “We’re not asking to be bailed out – that’s something Wall Street does.”
“YEAH! THEY GOT BAILED OUT, WE GOT SOLD OUT!” answered the crowd.
“Then how can I help you?” Howie asked. “I like the rhyming thing you have going, by the way.” It took a long time for his words to reverberate through the human microphone, but he had to admit he didn’t mind the certainty that he was actually being listened to.
The scruffy activist sneered. “Look at you – even your candy is for the 1 percent. Hundred Grand? PAYDAY? Mounds…. Of money, I’m guessing? Snickers… at the poor working class?”
“I think you’re reading a little too much into this. Plus, I also have Three Musketeers. If that’s not a populist candy bar, I don’t know what is. All for one, one for all?” He paused and nervously surveyed the crowd.
Four-Eyes McProtest seemed to relax. “Kit-Kats, man. Now that’s a candy about sharing the wealth.”
Howie nodded in solidarity. “How about a compromise? You guys go occupy somewhere else today, and on Halloween I’ll dress up as Eric Cantor and trick-or-treat among the tent city downtown.”