What in the world is Loot Crate?

A few years ago my daughter KoKo returned home from living and working in Brainerd.  Several things changed in our home.

First, our electricity bill quadrupled.  Millennials live on line: streaming, gaming, uploading, and constantly being connected.

Second, our grocery bill doubled.  In order to live on line 24/7, Millennials apparently like to eat 24/7 too, namely junk food and Digorno's Pizzas.

Third, we went through twice as much trash.  Apparently, living (both in the real world and on line) produces a lot of waste: fast food containers (it's not as if she wasn't eating us out of house and home already) and other garbage (an inordinate amount of discarded canvases and paint supplies).

Fourth, we were inundated with junk mail.  Credit card company's want to sink their teeth in to my daughter's unblemished credit score and colleges are eager to convince her that she needs to re-apply and earn yet another major for which there are few jobs.

It was with the junk mail that I made a startling discovery.

One day, about the middle of the month, an exquisitely wrapped package came for KoKo.  It looked like it should have come from apple.  Instead it simply read two words I had never seen put together before:

I fought the urge to open it (which was very strong.  Sure, it was illegal, but so was my energy bill thanks to KoKo).  Instead, I waited for KoKo to return home from work.

"Hey, dear," I asked from the stove as I was making dinner (tator tot hot dish, which is mandatory every Wednesday night in the Reynolds' household). "A package came for you today?"

"Really?" KoKo asked, scanning the entry way for the box.

"I set it over here on the table," I said, and left out what I was really thinking . . . I left it there so I can ask you to open it so I can see what this is all about.

As soon as KoKo saw the distinctive black box and white lettering she squealed. 

I'm serious.  I hadn't heard that sound since I promised to take her to Space Aliens in Fargo for her 9th birthday.

"It finally came," she said seizing the box in her hands and bounding downstairs to her room.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," I said.  "You gotta let me know what that thing is."

"Oh, you'd love it," she said.  "It's a bunch of stuff organized around a different theme each month."

"Stuff?  What kind of stuff?"

"It depends.  Geeky stuff like badges, t-shirts, souvenirs, and . . ."

I knew what word she wanted to use but was trying desperately to avoid using . . .

"a bobble head, a key chain, and . . ." KoKo's eyes were searching for another word to avoid the one that came easiest to mind.

"And?" I asked.

". . . uh, other stuff . . . you know . . . collectable stuff."

"Such as?" I asked, perking up my right eyebrow.

"I don't know.  Maybe a few . . . uh . . . a few . . . toys."

I knew it!  There it was.  The one word I had been waiting for.

"Really?  What kind of toys?"

She smirked for she knew I wanted to know what was inside the box and how much of it I could have to take to my classroom.

"You know Kurt, it's really cheap.  It's only like $20 a month."

I chuckled, letting her off easy.

As she headed down to her room, I couldn't help but ask, "What is the theme for this month?"

"Uh . . . Halloween I think."

As I opened the stove to take a peek in at the hot dish, I thought, Ugh.  I'm already addicted, and I haven't even ordered one yet.