Devoted fans of this column will remember a piece published a few weeks ago entitled “Manifesto.” In it, the speaker, a delusional basement-dweller whose only joy came from the prospect of visiting the St. Drogo Coffee Bar for a morning latte, was repeatedly crushed in their quest for happiness by the coffee bar’s inability to provide for them a single cup of hot bean water and milk.
Now, I do not by any means claim to have magical powers or even a large readership. All I am saying is that when you commit your passions to paper and find that within mere weeks of your ultra-specific callout article, the object of your vitriol has been scrubbed from the face of campus, you start to wonder why you haven’t tried this before.
Am I happy about the closing of the St. Drogo Coffee Bar? Absolutely not. Now nobody has the chance to be rejected when asking for one single caffeinated beverage to go along with their soggy, powdered Caf eggs. What I am happy about is the fact that I, the author of a column read by, according to my knowledge, approximately three people (including my mom, thank you), am now in fact the most powerful person on Franciscan University grounds.
They say that power corrupts, and absolute power absolutely corrupts the absolutely powerfully powerful absolutely. I do not find this true for myself, who in the light of recent events could justifiably be counted among the numbers of those who are in Absolute Power. I feel the weight of the responsibility that accompanies this power, and I am determined to wield it wisely.
That being said, I feel a certain amount of respect is in order.
Do you value your time on this campus? You may want to watch your back. My greatest asset is my anonymity. You’ve heard that one should always be kind to guests, as they might be entertaining angels unawares. Well, let me say this: one should now be kind to everybody they meet, as one might be in contact with someone who, with the stroke of a pen, could absolutely annihilate them. Cause them to fade from existence. Dematerialize.
Let’s do a little thought experiment. For fun. Let’s say you’re reading this column one day, and this is the headline:
“Franciscan student Marsha Evans is a little rude, fails to hold door open for random bystander.”
One week later, Marsha is missing. Where has she gone? Nobody knows. But we know what she could have done. We know what could have saved her. Let’s try another one:
“Resident Franny criticizes chess move in game they were not part of.”
Oh, what’s that? The man in the cable-knit sweater is gone! He’s disappeared! Family is distraught! This all could have been avoided if you’d held your tongue. I don’t care if I was four to checkmate. I’ve only been playing for three weeks.
Listen, all I’m saying is that the pen is mightier than the sword, and the sword was never able to will things out of existence simply by placing grievances about the opponent in ink. So you all would do best to watch yourselves.