Dear students,
I write about a most precarious incident at your school. There are only two crimes that happen at this institution you call home . . . real ones, and the ones that you never forget. And this one, I have not been able to stop thinking about. The greatest crime committed at Simon Fraser University? Heartbreak. [Pause for dramatic effect.]
At least, that’s what I felt. My name is Simon Solves, and I am the finest detective, certified investigator of brilliant scrutiny — or BS for short! But on this foggy day, I found myself staring at the Koi pond just mooning over what happened to the school spirit. The coroner darn well announced the death of the school spirit at 11:59 p.m. last Tuesday, you see. And they suspected . . . foul play.
The case? Impossible on the outset. How do you assess the death of something intangible? Well, you start by looking at the students. Never mind those people laughing at the fire pits, or having fun with their friends. They don’t exist in Simon Solves’ eyes.
No, the real students suffering through the drudgery of academia! I mean, look at them as they gaze worriedly at Canvas. You see, that was suspect #1. Canvas . . . if you replaced “can” with “murder,” the program’s name suddenly sounded sinister. Combine that with the time of death, and you have an understanding of the “final destination” for the school spirit . . . FINAL PAPERS!
I brought my suspicions to the nearest raccoon I could find, for I have always thought of them as the wardens of truth. “Pip pip,” the raccoon said wisely at me as it washed its paws in a puddle. But I knew what it was really saying: “You are on the wrong track, buster.”
I will not lie, students. I grieved. For me. For the school spirit, which I had affectionately named, “Schoolie.” I could see the desperation on the students’ faces as they commuted down from the campus, wondering what happened to their once joyful camaraderie. Oh, it broke my heart. But then, the raccoon dropped a slip of paper at my foot: “SUB,” it read.
“SUB . . . SUB . . .” I paced around. Yes, there was a building named the “SUB,” but it was more complicated than that. Why would my friend not spell out the full name? Why only the abbreviation?
Then it hit me. The word I heard floating around student grades recently. “Sub-par!” Of course! If it was not Canvas that murdered the school spirit with malevolence, it was the exams! I rushed to the nearest office I could find! Unluckily, that office was locked deep in the bowels of the Maggie Benston Centre.
“I have discovered what has killed the school spirit!” I announced proudly to the receptionist. They stared at me, no doubt in awe at my reputation. I was Simon Solves! I solved everything, allegedly!
“I deduce that your assessments have been killing the school spirit . . . a death by a thousand cuts!”
The receptionist tilted their head to look at me, as if studying my face. Would the truth reveal itself now? I chuckled at the thought! They then looked wanly at me, placing a McFogg mask on their desk.
“Mr. Solves . . . I am afraid the answer is more complex than you expect.”
Well? Are you not intrigued? I was as well! But then I was promptly shunted out of the office for disruption of peace! The nerve. Or, was it a tactic to throw me, Simon Solves, off the scent?!
I would find this out in due time, but now I must leave with what the folks in my office describe as a, “Peak-hanger.” If you leave some tips and friendly compliments, perhaps I may have more to tell you about the very tragic tale of Schoolie . . .
Love,
Solves
