Escape Room

/ J. F. Riordan

Well.

I used to teach Lord of the Flies, but somehow its theme hadn’t occurred to me in the context of a birthday party. It’s interesting–and as a former teacher of teenagers this should not be news to me–how individual boys can be just fine, but a group of ten transforms into something new. And I now know the exact number at which the change occurs.

Oh, did I say escape?

We had two cars. My little hatchback fit four boys; the rented Pacifica took the other six. The difference between four and six is significant. Because on each 30 minute portion of our drive to and from the Escape Room, the mix of four was civilized; the mix of six was not. It may have helped that I had assumed the teacher mode with my group, occasionally making ironic comments that kept them in check. My husband preferred to adopt a cover of anthropology, quietly studying the locals’ habits. This was a less successful approach.

We had planned to drop the critters boys off at the Escape Room and sally forth into the chic environs of Milwaukee’s Third Ward for an hour. When I found a parking spot on the street, my husband stopped, too, and let his group out so he could find a spot while we went on. At least, this was how he explained it. I now know he had ulterior motives.

It took a minute or two to finagle the parking app (How are these convenient?? A quick plug of quarters would have handled the whole thing in seconds.) while the marauders wandered out of sight around the corner making more noise than one might have expected.

We arrived in the small warehouse lobby. I turned my back to register our arrival–to the accompaniment of the most astonishing volume of boys–and when I turned back, they were literally jumping off the furniture. I’m serious. I commandeered the situation with my teacher voice.

It was at this point that the management informed me that an adult would have to accompany them into the room. Delightedly, I texted my husband the good news. I knew he would be thrilled to have this experience with his beloved grandson. This, however, turned out not to be the case. His exact words texted to me were “Can’t you ESCAPE??????” And then, “FUQ”.

I have seen the billboards for this adventure over the years, and each time my inner voice has said, “Sweet Jesus, No.” What a nightmare to be locked into some dank room and find it fun. Now, one of us had to go. And it turned out to be the one with mild claustrophobia.

If you have ever seen film of the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, you will note that while the bulls run when released, they do not howl like banshees. This was not the case when the door was closed to the escape room. I took a deep breath and found a corner to sit on the floor and send retribution texts to my husband.

There was no cooperation, no leadership, and very little thoughtful investigation. They were simply romping through the room, banging on things, pulling on things, and causing far more trouble than a litter of giant puppies. And they made an ungodly amount of noise.

There was a bar setup–it was a spy-themed escape–and there were rows of empty plastic wine bottles. At one point they began hitting one another with the bottles. I mean, these were not friendly raps. They were pushing one another into a corner while beating one another on the head. I felt like a prison guard. Sighing, I intervened. “Give me the bottles. NOW.” Meekly, they each handed them over. I had to explain to one of them to stop punching people.

Meanwhile, my husband is texting me. “I’m SO sorry.” And “How long do we have to have them in the house?”

If the intercom voice who was present to give clues and keep an eye on things had comments to make, these went mostly unheard. At one point, when the boys unlocked a door into the next room, there was a big metal box which had signs in big letters saying “DO NOT TOUCH.” Naturally, everyone had to run their hands over it.

Eventually, upon reaching the third room, which had a “DO NOT CROSS RED LINE” marking on the floor, pretty much everyone crossed the red line, resulting in a hideous siren going off. After about a dozen of these events, the management came in.

“You’re done.”
“Did we lose?” The boys asked. The manager assumed a look of weary irony. “You lost.”

He then told them to stop making so much noise.

I went up to the startled group of adults in the lobby. “I’m so sorry,” I said. I turned to the boys and raising my voice told them to wait outside on the sidewalk. “DO NOT GO ANYWHERE.”

I asked the manager if he had whiskey.

My husband texted me from his hiding place. “The ride home will take 4 years in Grandparent Time. It’s like dog years, but longer.”

As we drove home I began laughing out loud.

“Why are you laughing?” one of them asked.

“I was remembering you guys hitting each other with the bottles.”

We got home in one piece, and the boys tumbled downstairs into our basement family room. I had spent two days cleaning, cooking, shopping, and organizing. Or, as my husband put it, “putting doilies on things.” There was enough food for thirty adults, tons of candy, chips, and cupcakes. My husband poured himself a glass of wine. I reminded him that he owed me a carry-out margarita from the taco place down the hill. I could hear the clanking of the weight machine downstairs. “Make it two. Each.”

After a few moments, our grandson came upstairs, a somewhat anxious look on his face. “Can we go outside to play hide and seek?” I summoned a silent prayer of thanks. “Of course.”

There was a rumbling on the stairs as they came racing up to put on their shoes. It was dark. It had been raining much of the day, and it was going to be muddy. I didn’t care.

It was beginning to snow. I had imposed upon our dear friend, Scary Lisa, to wrangle the dogs, and the three of us now settled into our snug library to drink margaritas while ten boys, stripped to their waists, whooped and hollered, and ran rampant through the woods. I texted the neighbors in warning.

For the boys, this was clearly the unforgettably wonderful part of the day. Elliott said later: “Oh, Grandma, that was the best time ever!”

As half-naked teenagers streaked past the windows, we adults looked at one another. “You know,” my husband said, “it’s like Christmas morning, when you give the kid an extravagant present, and he spends all day playing with the box. Next time, it will be Chex Mix and a bonfire.”

One boy disappeared and was unfindable for twenty minutes. One lost his shirt. One fell off a wall. There was a sprained ankle.

Margaritas never tasted so good.

Oh, and by the way, DO NOT TAKE TEENAGERS TO AN ESCAPE ROOM.

Also: There will be no next time.

The end.

***
And now for your gratuitous dog photo.

55 thoughts on “Escape Room”

  1. Oh my, the Escape Room was nightmare fuel for grandparents! The whole experience must have been agony in the moment and yet hilarious in retrospect. Thankfully, there was alcohol for the adults. You may end up writing a book about your grandson’s stay.

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  2. Yep. Sounds about right. You cannot BELIEVE the sounds a group of boys can make and the damage they cause with their gangly limbs. The cleanup and recuperation last a day or so, but the humorous memories last forever!

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  3. What awesome grandparents you and Charlie are. And you extra brave to be in the Escape Room with 10 boys. Thanks for sharing your adventure.

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  5. OMG, so glad you survived! Having a terrific sense of humor helped.

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  6. I’m sorry, but that was the hardest I’ve laughed in many moons. At 64 I just imagined my parents after many birthdays for 4 children.  You are a fabulous writer.  I’m transposed in to the vignettes….hypothetically of course.  Id never survive a birthday party for 10 teenagers, let alone boys.  Thank you for enduring that.  I hope the margaritas were as good as you anticipated.

    Sent from AOL on Android

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  7. You are the best grandma! I could not *ever* imagine my grandmother taking me on an adventure like that. Glad the margaritas helped!

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  8. Let’s see. You had to help grandson with his algebra while Charlie hid. Excuse me. While Charlie did other things. Result – 2 whiskeys. Then Charlie left you with ten boys and an Escape Room where even the management was beaten down. Result – a margarita. You’re going to need a vacation or rehab by the time your grandson returns to France!

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  10. My German brother-in-law used to say, when, trying to get his own teenage boys to help him on the cars, “One boy is half a man. Two boys aren’t worth a damn.”

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  11. I have just warned my three and one-half month old grandson (who I am watching while mom and dad work) that he is to ask his other grandparents to do that crap with him. Just became a grandparent at 63 and I already know that I wouldn’t survive that ten years from now. Thanks for taking one for the team!

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  15. I could see and hear all the scenarios of your grandson’s birthday celebration as if I had been there. I did suffer the loss of not being able to taste the Margaritas. The memories you have given your grandson of his American birthday are beyond measure. Beautiful.

    Side note: See if margaritas can be delivered. On a daily basis.

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  17. How adventurous you were! Laughed my way all the way through! With Eli at the end… the day is complete… where’s the wine?! 🙂 C

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  18. I am having a lazy morning after a very stressful (in a good way) weekend. My morning has been quite lovely, but this is truly the highlight. I did raise boys, by the way, so I may have a deeper appreciation than some.

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  20. You are most definitely set for sainthood. I laughed so hard reading your post and at the same time can relate but on a younger level with my husband’s niece and nephew who collectively have a 3, 5 and 8 year olds who when we gather for the holiday lead me to be grateful we never had children. Especially the 3 year old who insists on screaming at the top of her lungs. Fortunately we had lots of wine at our last Christmas gathering which helped deaden the noise as I found a corner chair to hide. Chex Mix and a bon fire are a perfect solution.

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  23. Hahaha! I have 4 wild grandsons ages 5-9. I can 100% relate to the feral experience! Lesson learned – Never get trapped inside, send them into the woods! Loved this 😂🤗🐾!

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  25. Now that’s a good story! 👏👏👏😁
    I did an “Escape room” adventure in a warehouse in college with 3 of my friends and our girlfriends. There were 2 sets of keys to the pad locked door. 1 set was underneath an upside down car (It was part of the “misadventure story” of a someone looking for the treasure) and the other set was hidden with a bunch of clues throughout the warehouse. I forgot to mention that my 3 friends were also large teammates on my college football team.. we all lifted heavy weights at the time. Turns out that a 1980’s Volvo doesn’t weigh as much as you might think.. It took us 1 lifting “heave” in unison & about 10 seconds to get the pair of keys.. The “Quest-Master” was not happy about it. 😁

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  26. Next time travel with 5 youths and Eli. Put a sheriff’s badge on his collar. He’ll keep the shenanigans to a minimum while you are driving. 😁🐾

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  27. You’re a much braver grandmother than I. My oldest grandson is now 11. I’ve yet to attend or host one of his parties with his friends. Now I’ve more reason not to. Thanks.

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  30. Several years ago my husband and I volunteered to “lead” an Odyssey of the Mind team of middle schoolers. We met in our home. Not much work was done, but furniture was broken.

    Do not do this.

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  32. Oh My Goodness! I am a retired teacher. I can only imagine what you went through with the 8th grade boys. You deserved all the Margaritas you could drink.

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  34. OMG, I’m crying with laughter as I read😂 As the mother of two boys (who has one sister and no brothers) these birthday parties are crazy! The only thing “better” is chaperoning a class trip. You’ll have to sign up JF, before Grandson returns to France. I wonder what he makes of these heathens. I can’t imagine French boys behaving this way😉

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  35. Your sentiments echo my husbands after a week long Boy Scout trip with the troop. Brave, indeed. I hope your recovery has been swift with many more margaritas in store! You’re an awesome grandma and writer.

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    • Leslie Mace lcmace@optonline.net
      I was laughing out loud reading your marvelous birthday story. No one writes quite like you…it’s always a joy to hear your voice in your words. The cherry on top of this “ice cream sundae”piece of writing is the wonderful photo of beautiful Eli. Thank you. Happy Holidays to you and yours.
      Leslie

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  37. Whew! I’m laughing. Your essay is amazing and amusing. Your grandson is one happy and lucky birthday boy. How are Auggie and Eli? How are you and Grandpa? A shout out to Scary Lisa! A very high bar for future birthdays. I’m still laughing. Naps today for all?

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  38. This story of the teenage party is delightful and hilarious. As I don’t have any children and, therefore, no grandchildren, I’m fascinated with “Grandparent Time”. Please keep them coming. I think you will have an unending source of these stories. And, of course, the photos of Auggie and Eli.

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  39. This was an absolutely hilarious report of the “outing”. I could see it in my mind as I read the post. I’m sure the boys loved it and will remember it fondly as a cool thing to do. Thanks for the smile today!!

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  40. I can sympathise! We have an annual Memorial Day weekend party which used to be adults…well all those adults had children and now there are packs of them running through the woods and staying up all night and it isn’t just boys, we have a girls posse as well!

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  41. Dealing with boys that age is not for the faint of heart. Congratulations on both a job well done and a prize worthy essay. Thank heaven for your “teacher voice”! I’m sure it came in very handy!

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  42. Thank you for reminding me of the joys and horrors of being a substitute teacher at a middle school!!!

    Regards,

    Margaret Gordon

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    • I apologize for laughing all the way through this, but been there, done that. I was handed a 7-year-old stepson when I was 27 and told that I was raising him now. For reasons I still don’t understand, our house was the hang-out house for all boys in the neighborhood. My refuge was cognac. Sorry again for my very understanding laughter.

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  48. This is a great story! All that wrestling and such in a small space makes me crazy. Your grandson will always fondly remember this birthday. ☺️

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