Tiny but mighty
By Amy Diaz
amydiaz@mail.usf.edu
The sledgehammer was too heavy. The golf club was too light. The ax was just right.
The smallest boots they had for me were two sizes too big, and the gauzy coverall was definitely designed for people well over 5’2”. The helmet, gloves and protective vest — arguably the most important pieces — all fit just fine.
With Paramore blasting in the background, I approached a big mirror in a wooden frame. I looked for nods of encouragement from my two friends armored up with me. Then I smashed the shit out of it.
The Smash Room of Tampa, 14311 N Nebraska Ave., is in a small unit of an unsuspecting brown building.
When you walk in, there are comments written on little pieces of paper taped all over the walls from previous visitors. “Hulk smash” and “I’d smash that” seem to be pretty popular ones.
The company started in 2018 and, according to its website, was “established to provide an alternative to seeing an anger therapist or talking it out when you’re having a bad day.”
To mimic an actual workplace or house, the rooms have objects like furniture, printers, TVs and glassware. You can also bring in your own objects to destroy, like a framed picture of your ex. (I didn’t do that, Evan, but I may or may not have been imagining your face on everything I destroyed.)
That said, the first swing was for getting dumped a week before Valentine’s Day, which is a dumb holiday anyway, but still. The second was for my now-former boss, who kept “forgetting” to pay me and asked me to “relax” every time I brought it up. The third was just for fun.
I looked over at Emily, who had started batting practice by lining up glasses on the table and swinging them into the wall across from her. Some shattered upon contact. Others didn’t break until they hit the wall.
Allowed to be angry
by Emily Wunderlich
Our host told me the coveralls made me look like Baymax from “Big Hero 6.” I tried not to think about that as I channeled my inner teen angst.
“Here’s where three seasons of softball pay off,” I thought.
Each time I brought the bat down, I could feel myself unleashing years’ worth of rage I didn’t know I still had.
I thought about all the shit I tolerated in recent months and realized I had never let myself truly be angry over it. Instead, I kept myself distracted until I didn’t think about it anymore. But it was like a conflict with no resolution; the anger had to come out somehow.
“This one is for insisting you knew what I wanted.”
Smash.
“This one’s for the time you called me a whore.”
Smash.
“And this one is for all the times you didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
Smash.
Maybe I’m not violent enough to imagine anybody’s face while I’m breaking glass. But I’m not above pretending to smash his windows, his phone, his computer or his TV.
Jonah took on the wooden headboard that our host kindly asked us to make sure we “really destroyed.”
Myself before the rest
by Jonah Hinebaugh
I stared through a cloudy dirt bike-esque helmet –– already drenched in sweat –– into my camera, praying that one of these photos would turn out OK.
I rapid-fired my shutter to get that ax smashing the mirror since, you know, I can’t quite tape the glass pieces back together and try again.
Maybe the batting practice with glass cups counts as sports photography.
I hid my camera in the corner as ceramic, glass and splintered wood flew across the room.
My inner Eric Andre manifested, and with the same energy he brings to every destructive intro on his self-titled show, I smashed everything in sight.
I felt like a lumberjack setting up planks of wood on the table to destroy – measure twice, cut once, am I right?
I’ve never been an aggressive person. I usually keep my heavy emotional burdens and traumas to myself. I feel like a burden trying to talk to someone about it and putting my own shitty mental health on them.
Every swing of the bat, ax or crowbar was directed mostly at myself.
Every time I’ve had suicidal ideation.
Every time I haven’t been able to get out of bed because of my depression.
Every time I’ve brought emotional pain to my friends and family.
I swung the ax so much on the printer I thought Amy and Emily were staring at me like I was crazy – I swear I’m not.
The feelings then shifted toward every fascist, white nationalist, supremacist, rapist, xenophobic cuck across the U.S.
Even today, watching the videos of Heather Heyer, among other protesters, being struck by James Fields in Charlottesville, Virginia, makes me cry. So, you best believe Fields’ ugly ass face was on my mind.
Sweaty, but satisfied, I was glad I didn’t have to worry about catching a charge while still brushing up on my destructive ability.
For around $30, depending on the package, you’re provided with protective gear, a room full of smashable objects and a basket of weapons, including baseball bats and crowbars.
The Smash Room offers group, individual and kid sessions, as well as party packages ranging from birthday to divorce. You have the option when booking your appointment to make your session recurring (and they totally won’t judge you if you do.)
Students, teachers, military and first responders receive a 10-percent discount on the Smash Room starter package and group-of-two packages.
oh no ! this could be a trigger for the overfunded mental health entities to demand that you show up for a evaluation at the closest USF office