Metro, June 22
As my sledgehammer smashes through the side of an ancient printer, all those ‘error, paper jam’ messages finally get their rage-fuelled comeuppance. An exposed chip-board shatters into smithereens, bouncing off the far wall. This feels really satisfying.
Thankfully I’m not in my office while slightly terrified co-workers look on, but a Destroy’d Rage Room, where for 30 minutes you get to vent some anger by obliterating the nearest item to hand. We came across it as a potential father’s day activity on Virgin’s Experience Days site, but it transpires that there are four Destroy’d Rooms across the country by Trapp’d, a company who otherwise offer the immersive escape rooms which have become so popular.
Whether destructively smashing your way through stress, tension or anger in this way is actually useful psychologically is something of a moot point, however. Actually, it’s not really the point of the Rage Room at all; arriving in a dingy Stockport basement, the disclaimers are all about not putting a sledgehammer through one of their walls, or an axe through your friend’s leg. There’s no discussion of how you might be feeling, or any prior anger management issues.
Still, amusingly, the assistant helping me into my protective overalls does say they get whole families coming to work through their annoyances. How bad must family life be, I wonder aloud, if you’re proactively booking a session in a couple of weeks’ time to violently chuck glass bottles at a wall while your husband, wife or children wait for their turn behind the booth?
So initially, at least, a Rage Room doesn’t seem an entirely constructive use of half an hour. On a platform in front of me I have a solitary printer, a monitor, and a tray of empty beer bottles. I can choose from an array of weaponry to break things, and you can bring your own stuff to smash too. Nevertheless, it seemed a bit weird to come armed with my stash of “Norwich City: Premier League” mugs.
But first, I must press play on the (very heavy duty) bluetooth speaker hanging off a ceiling chain. They will play music for you, or you can prepare your own playlist – and I admit curating a ten-song soundtrack of rage was probably as much fun as the actual experience. The door closes, Limp Bizkit’s nihilistic anthem Break Stuff impels me to violence, and away we go.
Over the next half an hour, encouraged by Jane’s Addiction, Nirvana, Nine Inch Nails, Beastie Boys and of course Rage Against The Machine, I slowly get into the zone of retribution and destruction. I was expecting to get bored by the time Limp Bizkit had told me for the tenth time to “give me something to break”, but something rather remarkable happens. I start forgetting about putting the bins out, and focus everything on meting out justice to this completely indestructible printer.
In its own, weird way, the whole experience becomes mindful. This will tell you more about my dutiful domestic arrangements than anything else, but my experience of breaking things up usually surrounds getting big things small enough to fit in my car to take to the tip. Here, the notion of just breaking down a printer with an axe because you can, takes on a meditative quality. By the end, I feel satisfied, sated… and absolutely knackered. The assistant warns me that most people don’t make it to the end, such is the workout offered by half an hour of smashing things with a sledgehammer.
The door opens, he offers me blue paper towel to wipe the sweat off, and someone else arrives with a shovel to clear up the mess before the next booking. The printer, he notes with a tone of uncalled-for amusement, is still intact enough for the next person to have a go at. Ironic that printers never work but are seemingly indestructible, right? Anyway, he has a lot of sweeping up to do, though I can’t imagine it’s particularly environmentally-friendly recycling going on here.
“How was that?” I’m asked. “Really good fun,” I say slightly sheepishly – and apparently that’s the usual answer. It’s not really somewhere to go to work through anger management issues, nor is there any sense anyone here would be able to point you towards any help if you obviously needed it.
Still, I feel better than when I went in – although that might be because I am complimented on my “Break Stuff playlist” by staff. “Some good stuff on there,” one nods. And then I realise – they were watching, and listening to – my pathetic attempts to break that damn printer the entire time. I emerge into the Stockport sunshine no longer angry… but just a little embarrassed.
