Suite tours are available by appointment Mon – Thurs 11am-6pm
Opium Den tours are available by surprise Fri 2:46am-4:11am and Sat 3:24am-5:05am
It was the end of summer. Spots of clouds drifted by sluggishly, languishing in the last breaths of warmth and in defiance of the coming Autumn. Two weeks before the official start of school, we arrived on campus rejuvenated by the summer and ready to tackle the last best year of our lives—the climactic point from which life is a downhill slide to wives, denture glue and death.
Upon entering our suite for the first time, we scampered like kids on Christmas morning to our respective rooms to fantasize over the infinite decorating possibilities and to ceremoniously unplug our ROLM phones. ROLMs in hand, we converged in the hallway to seek out the deepest, darkest recess to which we could banish the phones and the evil autodialing alumni-relations spirits within.
As if by coincidence, we had gathered directly outside one particular door that nobody had noticed before.
Seemingly drawn by some mysterious force within, Colin approached the portal and swung it open; light spilled from the hallway seemed to be absorbed by the infinite expanse that lay within.
“Dibs!” Shouted Jon. Nobody else had the courage to contest him.
We donned our headlamps—yes, we all own headlamps—and took our first tentative steps inside. A first look at the floor suggested that either Jackson Pollack began his career here or something far more sinister had taken place.
Predating Pollack’s work by at least several years, Neolithic cave markings were scrawled across one side of the room. Deciphering these ancient characters has so far proved impossible.
And at the farthest expanse of the room we stumbled upon treasure we could not have possibly fathomed:
“What are these strange devices?” remarked Colin at the front of the expedition.
“They appear to be goggles, or some other form of protective eye covering,” answered Winston authoritatively.
“It looks like they were designed to carry things, like a bocce ball set maybe,” puzzled Tom.
“That’s nonsense. This room definitely must have been a cell of some sort and these were used to restrain people. See? They lock-- nobody would be able to undo this type of sophisticated latching mechanism,” interjected Jordan.
Everybody mumbled in agreement with this theory as we all individually concluded that we must be standing on the site of a defunct holding cell for delinquent artists. It would also do perfectly as a converted burial ground for our possessed ROLM phones. Utilizing the restraining devices to lock the earpieces to the keypads, we placed the phones in the end of the tunnel at the far end of the room.
Luckily I recalled the ancient mantra to ensure the autodialing spirits would stay entombed forever:
“Seek two bed frames, a mattress, four pairs of skis, a bicycle pump, a mini-fridge and as much cardboard as you can find. Mash them into the chamber as haphazardly as possible. Only then will the curse of the ancient relics remain at bay.”
Suffice to say, we followed these instructions to a tee.
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