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Up until this point, I questioned whether or not the group of us could collectively make a worse decision than the course of action from night we defeated The Humdrum. I would ponder on the possibility that, perhaps, we’ll collectively die one day due to a mistake we all made, and that would be the top worst decision. What I hadn’t thought of, though, was the very real possibility that we’d choose the worst friend-outing option available, making that the top poor decision of our lives so far.
Why do I say this? Oh, because Baz is on the floor having a panic attack, Simon’s trying to slam himself through the door, and I’m about a minute away from finding my way out of the escape room without causing structural damage.
It started how most bad ideas start; with a good idea.
“We need to go out and do more,” Simon complained, throwing himself over the sofa and rolling onto his back. “I’m bored of Thursday’s Game Nights. It’s no fun when we all get wine drunk and Baz wins at Monopoly again .”
Baz’s head lifted, eyebrows pulled together as his mouth turned to an open-pout. “I quite like Thursday’s Game Nights.”
“Yeah, well, babe? That’s because you win.” He wasn’t even looking at him as he delivered that.
Before they really started getting at each other’s throats, I spoke up with probably more than a hint of annoyance. “Okay, fine. Shut it. What do you suggest, Simon?”
He perked up at that, as if he wasn’t actually expecting someone to ask him (he can be royally oblivious, at times). “Something fun.”
“Monopoly's fun,” Baz grumbled in protest, glaring at his phone as he flicked through something.
With crossed arms, Simon huffed out and sunk deeper into the couch. “What’s there to do for fun?”
I went through my mental checklist, crossing off a few options as I swirled my mug of tea. “How about one of those escape rooms?”
And that’s where it went downhill. From finding a place, booking a small group ticket, and actually getting there, it was already winding up for our greatest misadventure yet. Realistically, I should’ve made Simon pay attention while they were giving us instructions for emergencies (such as, you need to end the game early, etc). But, instead, he tried to whisper strategies conquering the puzzle to Baz as I listened along instead.
So, overall, here’s my record-scratch, freeze-frame moment, except there’s no reason to wonder how I got here today, because it was all my fault.
See, what I hadn’t taken into consideration was Baz’s claustrophobia, the fact that the walls slowly close in if you’ve given the wrong answer, and Simon’s undying devotion to keeping his boyfriend happy. Therefore, we have a crying Baz, a kicking Simon, and me, the only somewhat functioning adult.
Theoretically, I should hit the emergency button. Instead, though, I’m frantically searching for the last clue, trying to somewhat comfort Baz at the same time by just shouting “Take deep breaths!”. All the while, trying to ignore Simon’s shouts as he kicks, and kicks.
“Let us fucking out!” He punches the door. “I’m not fucking around!”
“Simon, Crowley! Calm your tits for one minute and help me!” I’m throwing papers around, glancing between him and what’s in my hands as I speak.
Thump .
It swings open to a tired-looking employee rubbing his temple. “Get the fuck out before you wreck the door,” he snaps, waving us to the exit. “Better get your friend some water.”
Stunned, Simon lets the shock of the open door cover him before he shakes off part of his outburst, helping Baz up and locking his arm around him firmly. I stay back, following behind them as I mouth “sorry” to the employee. We collect our bags from the locker as the manager stares disapprovingly at us from the hallway the entire time.
I feel the need to trail back a bit, watching the two of them go ahead of me. Once outside, Simon pulls Baz aside, fetching a water bottle from his backpack and tipping Baz’s chin to coax him to drink. He lets him sip, then breathe in the outside air while whispering something that’s inaudible to me over the soundtrack of the city. After a few minutes of them calming down together, they wave at me from the windowsill I’ve taken to sitting against nearby.
“So,” I say, falling into step with them as we head back towards the tube station. “I’m assuming we’re going back to Monopoly next week?”