There was a bomb in the garbage can outside my office this morning.

Well, to be specific, the police called it a "practice bomb." Meaning that, though it apparently contained enough explosives to blow up our entire building, it lacked that special something that would elevate it from "just trying this out for fun" bomb status to "totally fucking serious about blowing shit up" bomb status. Interestingly enough, the police were unable--or unwilling--to enlighten us as to what that special something might be. The right handbag? A certain joie de vivre? We will never know.

In any case, the space-age ROBOT that they sent via remote control to approach the garbage can, spill its contents, and retrieve the envelope-sized item, ascertained that it was, indeed, a bomb.

Afterwards, when one of my co-workers sidled up to a nearby officer and said, lightly, "Fucking New York City. I bet you guys find shit like this all the time." The officer looked him dead in the eye and said, "No, Sir. We do not."

Sadly, what he should've said was, "We didn't used to."