By: Heidi Kwok, Investigative Journalist-In-Training
As a wannabe-investigative journalist, I was determined to follow in the footsteps of my predecessors at The Peak Investigates column. Thus, donning my fedora, beige-coloured trench coat, and with one too many coffee enemas in my system, I ventured out from the bowels of The Peak office to solve a very complex (yet seemingly straightforward) case.
After making my way to the AQ, I squeezed my way into the long table near Renaissance Coffee to begin my observations. The case was simple enough: recently, an unusually high number of students have been reported falling down the stairs that connect the AQ to Blusson Hall. Sources say that people have been too busy texting and scrolling on their phones to notice the 50-foot drop right in front of them. However, I was unconvinced — surely, this bright and highly-educated group of youths would know to keep their eyes peeled forward to watch where they’re going. Right?
Target #1: The clueless first-year
The first person to fall victim to the stairs was a first year speeding down the hallway, glasses askew, backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder, its unzipped-compartment trailing behind a mess of crumpled-up class syllabuses. “Where is that damn lecture hall?” Distracted by the SFU room finder app, they almost made it down the stairs unscathed until one misplaced step sent their arms flailing like a windmill. For one glorious second, they soared like a bird before diving downwards, landing in a crumpled, defeated heap at the base of the stairs. Ouch.
Target #2: The repeat offender
This one was easy to spot. Given the way they hung onto the handrails for dear life as they analyzed the stairwell with a concentration that world-class mountaineers reserve only for climbs as perilous as Mount Everest — this was far from their first rodeo. “You’re not getting me this time,” they muttered under their breath, and as if to prove their point, they brandished two sets of sling and carabiner, clipping one end to the rails and the other to the harness across their waist. They slipped on a pair of rock climbing shoes, secured on a helmet, before slowly beginning their descent. This was going to take a while . . .
Target #3, 4, 5, 6, 7 . . . : The campus tour group
An hour later, and while still observing the rock (or stair) climber who had made it almost halfway down, a chorus of animated voices started drifting from above. “. . . And this,” announced a student tour guide decked out in SFU merch, “is one of the seven archaeological wonders of Canada: the Saywell Hall Atrium!” Her enthusiasm was met with a round of “oohs” and “ahhs,” as the prospective students whipped out their phones and excitedly snapped selfies. “Now folks, please direct your atten . . . aaughhhhhh!!!” The guide, with her back turned, failed to see the impending drop. Fortunately, her hands managed to find purchase on a nearby structural support. Unfortunately, that support turned out to be a member of the tour. In an effort to help the guide, the entire group also surged toward the ledge. The aftermath was almost elegant, as the tour group spiralled, spun, and flew down the stairs, one after another, like a synchronized Olympic diving team. The illusion was unfortunately broken when the rock climber cried out in desperation as one of the prospective students took them along for the fall.
A couple days later, a sandwich board appeared overnight, telling passersby to put their hands on the handrails of the stairs rather than using their phones. It appears my work here is done — the mystery behind students falling down the stairs can be chalked up to pure student-ness.
