Right away I knew. The mysterious box on the hood of Chris' car was a gift from Buddha to me. I saw the Girl Scouts emblem on the side and I just knew. I ripped open the box and my wildest dreams came true. Twelve boxes of Thin Mints. I felt ecstasy. It was like listening to a song and it's so groovy and you just love it and all you can do is dance even though you know you look like a dork (see Tom Cruise in Risky Business). I was hopping on one foot, I was jumping around and waving my arms wildly in the air like a dragon in a Chinese New Year's Parade. I screamed and yelped and let out a yawp mightier than that part of Annandale, Va. had ever heard. I had 480 cookies, 240 of which I gave to Chris. There are ancient haiku about this:
a thin mint cookie
a delight for young and old
a gift from Buddha
I brought 20 to school the next day and gave them away to everyone I saw. These Thin Mints seemed to glow in people's hands, like they were about to fly away, or leave for a better place. But then they purposefully marched right into the mouths of their respective owners, and gladly sacrificed their own lives for another's comfort. Later I worried that those Thin Mints had been for somebody, maybe the people whose house we parked in front of, but I decided that that was a moot point. I had been working hard and I was rewarded. I know the Thin Mints were a gift from Buddha.