The Colby Echo

Issue date: 3/2/07 Section: Opinions

Shit happens. It's all relative.

Clichéd, but true. That's what I've learned today, at least. This morning (being Sunday the 25th), I went out to brunch for a friend's birthday. We went to Slates, a locally known and respected restaurant/bakery, and were completely stoked for its innovative menu and funky atmosphere. We were also near-starving when we arrived in Hallowell around 12.

I sat sipping tea, chatting with the girls about the previous night's occurrences, and anticipating my brie- and broccoli-stuffed croissant, when one of Slates' employees came rushing towards our table:
"There's a fire upstairs. Everyone needs to immediately evacuate."

It really wasn't all that big of a deal. We calmly walked out the door, crossed the street, and grimaced at the sight of smoke pouring out windows and cracks in the building's brick. We didn't know what else to do, so we left. We got into our cars and drove to Big G's instead.

As we left, I noticed a teenaged boy standing outside, gripping a guitar case, looking lost. While nobody was really hurt in the fire (thankfully), this kid-presumably a resident in the apartments upstairs from Slates-is temporarily homeless, all of his stuff (save guitar) ruined. Sure, he's alive, but the whole situation still...sucks.

I left a little bit freaked out and a little bit sympathetic for this kid, to the people who own and work at Slates, to the entire town of Hallowell, where Slates is central in the community. I also left hungry and fully aware of the fact that I was devoid of one brie and broccoli stuffed croissant. I left saddened by the whole episode, lucky to have not gotten hurt, but still had my head swimming with the Sunday blues-grogginess, dreading the surge of homework and the looks of exhausted exasperation exchanged with my peers on the first floor of Miller, the impatience I felt with the time lost in the 30-minute drive to Hallowell, when I could have just rolled out of bed and walked downstairs in my PJs to Foss brunch.

The kid with the guitar is still, five days later, probably focused on the fire. I've moved on. You'll probably be sad for a few minutes after reading this article, but then forget about it. Hey, nobody died anyway.

Shit happens. Fires start, trees fall on homes, things out of our control occur everyday. I really couldn't do anymore than feel sympathetic and move on. There's no crying for justice, no active protests. My sympathy can only go so far. I hear about things like restaurant fires all the time, and often admittedly feel little to nothing.

It's all relative. If my house caught on fire, if I lost all my stuff (even though I try to believe that "stuff" isn't really important), my home, I would be a complete mess. If you were with me eating brunch at Slates, you would think about the fire for a little longer than the span of this column.

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