Trick or Treacher's

If cats have nine lives, then it's safe to assume that Fish 'N Chips are good for a least a dozen. Residents and long-time acquaintances of our fair village can attest that the fate of Arthur Treacher's has hung in the balance on numerous occasions. Just when you are convinced that this time the puppies have really been hushed, doors reopen, and it's business as usual.

The faithless will say that 2008 looks dim for Art. There was actually a "For Sale" sign in the window for a time, and this blogger spotted a well-dressed gaggle gazing about the property a month or so ago. Soon after that, construction vehicles frequented the establishment, ripping up the parking lot and landscaping. Those with good vision will spot equipment still hanging about the front door. The shop itself is gutted, the only things resembling a working restaurant are the donuts on the fresh pavement.

I, however, can be counted among the devout believers. Past experience tells me that all of the carnage could simply be part of a well-deserved face lift. Until the sign is removed and I witness customers leaving with burgers or lattes, I will not count Arthur out.

I have learned an important lesson from the fortitude of Arthur Treacher's. Things aren't always as they appear.

Truth be told, I am often guilty of quick judgement. Recently I made an assumption at work that had me up in arms for a full 24 hours. I was sure of my conclusions and layered them into a solid reality, like fresh asphalt compacting under the roller's weight. Problem was, my deductions were built on a faulty foundation, and cracks formed in the pavement when the underlying truth pushed its way to the surface. Things were not as they appeared.

Likewise, one can drive through Danville and see a shell of a building and assume that a run-down old restaurant has met it's demise. I will not give in to that temptation. I have not eaten in Arthur Treacher's in at least 14 years, but I assure you that if it is resurrected again, I will be first in line to honor the long tradition of fried fish, cornmeal, and good, old-fashioned hope.

Capstone

So I've figured out why I've had a pervasive feeling of dread and despair of late. It's my Sociology class.

This class is a "Capstone Experience" - a Senior requirement that is supposed to be like caramel on pumpkin cheesecake, the crowning moment of my illustrious college career. The main objective of this particular capstone is to spend eight hours a week in an internship, and then go to class and talk about your placement.

Well, I have this happy little assignment at a local elementary school. Everyone else is at detention centers, judge's offices, probation offices, Children & Youth and the like. Each week I am barraged with stories of neglect, abuse and perversion - and those are the light topics from my fellow students. My professor (a therapist), apparently concerned that we might find the world too carefree after such hopeful reports, peppers the conversation with stories from his abundant case files. Who knew a little piece of rural America could harbor so much smut!

I leave each week feeling like I need a shower and an episode of Barney to balance out all of the exposure to society's dark underbelly.

Since I've realized the problem, I have developed some joyful counter-measures. I go out of my way to look at the sunrise and sunset. I smile at as many children as possible throughout the day, wherever I am. I spend some extra time each day counting my blessings and thanking God for them. I find a piece of good news and soak in it liberally, like pumpkin cheesecake in a pool of caramel.