on escape rooms

for the love of god, do not invite me to them

This already terrifies me and sends me into an anxious frenzy. Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash

---

this is an attempt from me at a little humor. it’s not a high stakes thing at all. let’s laugh for a bit.

---

the phone buzzed at 3 a.m. with a text message that read, “wanna join us for an escape room tomorrow?”

it was from a friend of mine that shall remain nameless. but this friend… a man with more enthusiasm than sense, had a cruel knack for dragging me into the pits of hell disguised as social events.

it was then that i realized the modern world had officially lost its mind.

escape rooms. jesus. a concept that ranks right up there with waterboarding and prolonged sessions of peppa pig or cocomelon. ah, yes - lock yourself in a room with a bunch of pseudo-intellectuals, and pretend that deciphering cheap ass puzzles while a clock ticks down like a time bomb is a grand way to spend an evening. brilliant. no, thank you.

if i wanted to simulate the feeling of entrapment, social anxiety, and existential dread, i’d go to flicks on welfare wednesdays. at least there, the alcohol is cheap for the night, there’s some eye candy, and the discomfort is always viscerally genuine.

but no - the escape room promises all the thrills of confinement with none of the familial guilt. it’s like paying to experience a mugging, or willingly subscribing to receive spam emails for the rest of your life.

some of my friends’ ideas of fun have always been suspect. i mean, the fact that my friends invite me to escape rooms is really nice and i like that they think of me.

but also - take this into account - this friend who suggested the escape room is also the one who thought running with the bulls in pamplona would be a grand adventure until he ended up with a horn in his ass and a newfound respect for bovine speed, okay? so naturally, his suggestion of an escape room carried the same suicidal charm.

“come on, it'll be fun!” they all say.

“Come on… it’ll be fun!” Source: The movie The Exorcist, via People Magazine.

sure, if your idea of fun involves being locked in a windowless room with people who think "code-breaking" means finding the TV remote. alan turing would roll in his grave.

i’ve spent my life avoiding confinement, evading the metaphorical chains of society, and now, you want me to voluntarily step into a room designed to emulate a prison cell? it's madness! pure, unadulterated madness.

picture this: a dimly lit room filled with props that look like they were bought at a dollar store on halloween clearance. fake books, faux locks, and riddles so contrived they make the plot of a soap opera seem plausible. you’ve got thirty minutes to “escape” or you face the humiliation of failing a challenge designed for drunken bachelorette parties and corporate team-building exercises.

it's like a bad acid trip but without the colorful visuals and enlightening self-discovery.

imagine the characters involved: there's the overzealous alpha who thinks they’re a real-life sherlock holmes, shouting orders and solving puzzles with the grace of a sledgehammer. then there's the timid mouse who’s convinced they’re on the brink of a nervous breakdown, staring at a combination lock as if it’s the monolith from 2001: a space odyssey. and let's not forget the designated dumbass, the one who invariably tries to eat the clues or provides comedic relief by their failure to get anything about what’s happening. or the worst - the person that’s annoyingly unengaged and useless because maybe this isn’t turning out to be fun. and if you’re not any of the first two, guess what - your friends make you the dumbass. and then that’s how you become the worst, if you can’t manage it well (or at all).

i can’t fathom the appeal. why would anyone willingly trap themselves in a room and race against the clock to escape?

isn’t that what life is—a series of futile attempts to escape various metaphorical rooms, with the final prize being a box in the ground? enough with the puzzles and the locked rooms! i’m pansexual, y’all. i ain’t going back into the closet.

if i wanted to test my mental fortitude and problem-solving skills, i’d try balancing my checkbook or setting my non-existent vulva on fire.

escape rooms are symptomatic of our collective insanity. we’ve taken the primal fear of confinement and turned it into entertainment. it’s like turning a house fire into a festive bonfire gathering. i don’t like it.

maybe next, we’ll pay to be chased by wild animals in a simulated hunt, or spend an afternoon experiencing the joys of simulated waterboarding.

are we losing our ability to simply hangout? can we relate to others in a way that doesn’t cause me so much unnecessary anxiety? i don’t want to figure this out! i already got enough on my plate to decipher - my life!

so no, i won’t join you in your sadistic little game. if you need me, i’ll be at home, confined in a world of my own creation and marveling at the absurdity of it all.

because the real escape is not from a room, but from the mind-numbing drudgery of societal expectations. and for that, my friends, no key or combination is required—just a healthy dose of cynicism and a bottle of the good stuff.

invite me to your birthday. invite me to the club. invite me to the gym. invite me to a hike. to ride a bike. to a funeral. i’ll do a lot of things for you and with you.

but for the love of god - don’t invite me to an escape room. ever!

i’ve spent my life escaping the traps laid by society; i’m not about to pay for the privilege of being trapped.

cheers to freedom! and may your puzzles always be as avoidable as your poor life choices.