It wasn't often I got to be on the opposing end of discovering someone snooping, so it was equal parts fascinatingly satisfying and alternately sheepishly embarrassing to walk in on Alphonse Brunbaugh with his hand in the cookie jar. If said receptacle of sweetness was Melina Canty's desk in her cordoned off office.

Did I look that abjectly pathetic while stammering and stuttering over the reasons why I actually wasn't invading someone else's privacy? Surely not. I ...