Material Possessions

When the agency I worked for moved buildings last year, HR set up what they referred to as 'purge parties.' Despite the name, there was little vomiting involved. We were moving to an open floor plan which meant we wouldn't have offices to house all of our material possessions. These 'purge parties' gave us a chance to throw away what we didn't need. In return, we were rewarded with beer and pizza.

"Only keep what's absolutely necessary," we were told.

'Absolutely necessary' is subjective.

Each of the eight floors in our building had their own 'purge party.' I went to all eight.

Not just for the beer and pizza. For the freebies. Like a raccoon digging through a dumpster, I scavenged through these parties rabidly.

Here is an incomplete list of what I managed to drag back to the office I shared with three other employees:

-two landscape paintings
-a tub of whey protein
-a 1987 Sony FH-215R Boombox
-a ficus
-an autographed photo of former Chicago Bulls center Bill Wennington
-an already-deployed parachute

It’s true what they say. One man’s trash is another man’s sure-I’ll-take-it.

I'm not what you would call a hoarder, but I have hoarder tendencies. I am hoarder-esque.

Delma will say “Do you really need these issues of Electronic Gaming Monthly from 1999?”

And I’ll respond with “Yes. I do.”

Then she'll ask “Why?”

It’s not any one reason that I keep. It’s many little reasons that convince me to not throw away.

1) I might need it later.

2) It reminds me of that one time.

3) It was a gift.

4) I watched the Brave Little Toaster too many times growing up.

These are some of the reasons I keep. And, thus far, my hoarding hasn't posed any major issues. It's been an inconvenience when moving to a new apartment, but it's not like my collection poses a fire hazard. The fire escape isn't blocked or anything. Like, if there were a fire, I'd be able to get out, you know?

I know this to be true because, one night in the middle of January, there was a fire.

A loud crash woke us up at 2AM. Delma and I jumped out of bed and ran to the window.

There were shards of glass strewn all over the asphalt. An air conditioning unit had smashed in the hood of a Honda Civic.

The street was bathed in an orange hue, an Instagram filter applied to the entire block. I looked up and saw flames reaching out from a window on the 12th floor. The fire was being blown around by the wind, waving rapidly as if dancing to dubstep.

“The building is on fire!” I shouted to Delma.

“We need to get out of here!” she shouted.

"Bark!" my dog shouted.

I grabbed the dog, Delma's hand, and my parka, then ran. We sprinted down two flights of stairs, kicked open the emergency exit door, and flew out into the cold.

With the wind whipping through us, we stood on the sidewalk, our heads craned upward watching the inferno in the heavens. The fire was growing, dancing harder. People poured out of the building, flooding the street.

Firetrucks arrived three minutes later.

"GET. BACK." shouted a fireman holding an axe.

We watched the firefighters work in silence. They hooked up their hoses to hydrants, extended their truck ladders and began spraying the flames. A cool mist covered us as we watched.

The fireman with the axe walked over to us and slung it over his shoulder.

"Well, folks, it's going to be a while. CTA will provide a bus for ya to sit in until we have the situation under control, but it might be a bit."

After an hour of waiting in the cold and watching the firefighters work, the flames still danced, but now doing more of a slow swaying. A bus slowly rolled in front of the building. We hopped on board with dozens of other evacuees.

It was a nice 85 degrees inside the bus, nearly 60 degrees warmer than outside. Which felt great for about two minutes. Then the parkas came off. The windows fogged up. My dog started panting.

Chicago is a city of extremes.

After an hour and a half of sitting in the uncomfortable warmth, Delma leaned over to me and whispered "I'm hungry…"

I had not brought my wallet. She had not brought her purse.

I sighed. So did my dog.

With sweat dripping down my back as frost covered the grass outside, two thoughts ran through my mind.

If we had been living on a higher floor, that parachute would have come in handy.

And, the age-old question, If your home were on fire, what three items would you bring with you?

It's often asked at work functions as an ice breaker.

Everyone says things like "an Inception DVD that was signed by Christopher Nolan" or "the guitar that I used in my first paid gig."

Items with some significance to your life. Material possessions that you are proud to call your own.

Your answer is supposed to reveal some incredible insight about who you are as an individual. It gives others information which they can use to make assumptions.

I usually answer quickly because I hate ice breakers, my answers disingenuous and uninspired. "My XBox" or "my Macbook."

The truth is, with so many objects and material possessions, I never really knew what I would take. I had so many things, I couldn't decide. Yet watching the building go up in flames, I realized I didn't think of any of those items. Not my computer, not my books, not my clothes. None of it.

The truth is, with the building ablaze and adrenaline pumping through my veins, I grabbed what mattered most to me.

My dog.
My girlfriend.
And my evergreen Eddie Bauer parka, I guess.