As finals approach and the heat becomes blistering, my aggression is reaching its season’s peak. School stressors make the commute to campus all the more irritating, and once I finally arrive, I quickly become overstimulated by the bustling Student Union, vexed by the speeding scooters and irked by my pinging GroupMe notifications.
With these feelings and frustrations only mounting with each passing day, I could only come up with one solution: going to a rage room.
Rage rooms, or frustration spaces, first grew in popularity in Japan to help workers with stress management. During the 2008 U.S. financial crisis, the concept became mainstream in American culture.
Now, social media seems to have taken well to the concept, with over 80,000 posts on TikTok alone tagged with #rageroom.
Going into this experience, I wasn’t sure what to expect.
Though I am a pretty high-energy person, I’ve never been someone whose anger manifests physically. Outside of my love affair with boxing — which fizzled out by seventh grade — I have a hard time channeling my frustration into anything beyond internal stress and the occasional eye roll.
Upon arriving at Anger Management off of O’Neal Lane, I suited up in coveralls, a protective mask and gloves. In the walkway leading to the actual rage room is an array of various weapons, including bats, hammers, golf clubs and mallets.
Anger Management allows you to connect your phone to the bluetooth speakers, which I most certainly took advantage of, playing artists like Charli XCX, Mitski and Amy Winehouse.
Unexpectedly, I felt apprehensive about the entire experience. For the first 10 minutes, I was quite standoffish to the actual breaking of things for fear of hurting or embarrassing myself.
Suddenly, everything changed. All of my nerves dissipated and all of my rage came back. I remembered why I came.
This shift in perspective, of course, was prompted by Rihanna’s “Breakin’ Dishes” blasting over the speakers.
It was as if a beast within me had woken up. I started plotting on the trashed TV in the corner while spinning the baseball bat on the palm of my hand. Thinking about left-hand turners on East Boyd Drive, I took my first big swing. It gave in slightly, but I wasn’t even close to being finished.
An abrupt flashback to shuffling in and out of tour group traffic in the middle of the Quad popped into my mind. The frustration of having to navigate around gawking parents and awkward high schoolers fueled my next hit, which disconnected the stands of the TV.
As my brain cycled through different events of the week, I zoned in on the littered confetti affecting our beloved mascot. How could some of my peers treat Mike like this? Looking down, one of the standlegs was in several pieces, with the other now across the room from me.
The package you pay for dictates what materials you trash, as well as how many materials you receive. With the Date Night package, I received a medium-sized crate of plates, mugs and other dishes, as well as a box of empty liquor and wine glasses.
I also took advantage of a large bowling ball, which I attempted to hurtle at a pyramid of mugs. Though this venture wasn’t as satisfying as I pictured, largely due to a strange grip on the ball caused by the gloves, the ball was much better suited to smash directly onto materials, particularly the liquor bottles. Finally, my anger for Unity Field being shut down was put to good use.
The hammers on the other hand certainly packed the punch but required too much proximity for me. For someone more comfortable with the concept, I’m sure it’d be a great weapon of choice, but it was a bit too far off the deep end for my first trip.
My favorite weapon quickly became the golf club. Using it with more traditional methods — lining up bottles on the floor and swinging as if I were teeing off — was just as satisfying as using it for downward batting practice.
A rope hung from the ceiling, which guests can attach to materials to break. My first instinct was to attach the rope to a bottle to fling it against the wall. Unfortunately, I am but a mass communication student who did not calculate the risk of it simply bouncing back to me.
Pivoting, I hung the bottle from the rope to break with my trust bat, smashing it into a million little shards as I thought of all of the time I’ve wasted waiting on a Tiger Trails bus.
In between rounds of damage, I kept going back to a white board in the back of the room. Guests have left various messages about their lives, ranging from expletives about their struggles to celebrations about their victories. Reading these notes, I felt a deep connection to people I may never meet. I found the board deeply grounding throughout my experience.
Soon enough, my ammunition was less about anger and more about the simple pleasure of smashing everything in sight. I felt the urge to scream, to laugh and, most importantly, to rage — so I did.
Although I had to warm up to the process, I walked away from Anger Management more emotionally prepared for the week ahead. It isn’t a cure-all; my academic and personal stressors still exist and, on the drive home, I immediately hit I-12 traffic, which may have set me back to exactly where I was before.
One thing is certain though: rage, when used responsibly, can be surprisingly productive.
