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The raging bull

Introduction to the rage room

By Salomé SaffiriPublished 3 years ago Updated 4 months ago 6 min read

"Dance!" He threw his hand up at the crowd "Go on! Dance!"

Bending the elbows at his sides he started swaying his fists side to side in a tense and edgy manner. Lips stretched in a bewildered smile, matching sharp look in his eyes: His eyes were darting from guest to guest, looking at everyone, seeing no one. He jerked his face in the direction of a nervous chuckle, squinted his eyes and shouted approvingly with exaggerated theatrics:

"YES! HA-HA-HA" as the "The Conga" began tearing up the eardrums of the guests. Some shifted uneasily in their seats, some placing the neon prop glasses on the tables, headed to the exit.

"Don't go!" He hollered at the leaving in-laws. The smile left his face. He muttered: "Fuck it" and tipping over a punch bowl, left the room.


He got disoriented in the dark hallway and exited into the back alley. Sitting down on the stained, sticky curb, he rubbed his face with cold palms and groaned. His fingers travelling into the black coils of his hair.

"Is this fucking thing over yet?"

He glanced to the side, noticing the party server. Young man leaned against the wall, one foot up, looking like a broody Italian movie star from the 70's. The server stared off into the distance, puffing out doughnuts of smoke.

"Is that weed?"

"Are you a cop?"

The server tensed giving the man a look-over. The man shook his head. The server passed the joint obligingly.

They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the long receding honks of the freight train and the metallic clanging of wheels against the tracks. The back alley smelled sour.

Two out of three street lamps worked. One spilled the orange triangle of light directly above the exit. Another flickered intermittedly at the soft-edged, stained cardboard box at the end of the alley. The server looked at his watch:

"My gawd how long is this party!" And yelling into the dark sky above, as if addressing the man who was partying, he yelled "Have you seen the time? Go to bed, idiots!"

The man snorted shaking his head: "I think they won't sleep for a while"

"Really?" Perked up the server putting his foot down again searching man's face. The man's shoulders shrugged.

"I'm so tired of these rich fucks" Continued the server, leaning back against the wall "partying all night, tipping shit and expecting smiles all around.."

"What would you do if you were a rich fuck?" Chuckled the man passing the joint back to the server

"I'd party all night and tip shit" laughed the server. They sat in silence some more, the server exhaling long slim streams of smoke, the man listening to the sounds of the night city.


"He just announced that his wife cheated with his brother" Said the man looking off into the distance.

The server whistled. "No shiiiit?"

"Shit." Confirmed the man with a nod.

"if it was me- I'd wreck the whole party"


"HELL YEAH! That's where I'd get the value for my money!"

"How?" laughed the man

"There are these rooms - the rage rooms, where you go and smash the shit with a bat. Tables, tee-vies, ugly vases, you know, shit like that!"

He searched the man's face to see if the latter was following his train of thought. The latter had a curious expression, prompting the server to go on. "Yeah, so you smash it all to bits, crush it, rip things to pieces until you feel better.."

A smile slowly curved the man's lips, his eyebrows curved:

"Yeeeah... Yeah!" He nodded quickly "YEAH! LET'S DO THIS!"

"Shit, man, that's not my party! That was hypo-theti-cal.." The amused server enunciated the last word with vague hand gestures.

But the man was already up on his feet, entering the back door with determination. In one mighty drag the server finished the joint and hurried after.

The dark ballroom was illuminated by the disco ball, the DJ was packing up the equipment, irritated by the occasional shower of confetti, shot at him by the timed confetti guns. Golden strips of foil paper gently twirled in the air.

"Hey!" Yelled the man, running into the room "Wait up!"

The DJ clicked his tongue and made a pleading face. The man slid him two Benjamins and said with a childish glee

"It is time for the bride and groom's first dance, man, don't take that away from me!"

Bewildered the DJ plugged the cables back into computer. He pulled out the mic and announced:

"And now, for the first time ever, welcome Mister Roth to the dancefloor!"

Server, who began bussing the dirty plates stood frozen on the spot. His eyes round, jaw hung open comically . His semi-stoned mind was trying to work out how the chill alley dude be the "Rich Fuck" at the same time.

Mister Roth turned at the sound of breaking china, saw the server and laughed like a boy, witnessing such change in face. He pointed at the shards of the punch bowl

"I have already started" And suddenly springing into action he flew toward the round seating table and pulled on the white linen. The golden-rimmed china cascaded down as he guffawed! He grabbed the imported Italian peonies out of the flower arrangements and crumpled them in fists with delight. He kicked the chairs satin-bowed, sending them sliding across the polished floor.

"COME ON!" He beckoned the server as John Legend's "All of me" floated through the speakers. The server blinked, and quickly locating his preferred tool, grabbed the broom. He raised it above his head and landed an obliterating blow on his closest victim - a Limoges vase.

"YEAH!" Brayed Mr. Roth and smashed the wine glasses against the floor.

"YEAAAH!!!!" Screamed the server back, running to the next table waving the broom like a battlefield banner. He took out his anger at the flowers and stabbed the bread buns individually, releasing some unresolved catering conflicts.

"I" whack "HATE" whack "BREAD" whack "BUNS!" he sprinted to a different table shuffling his feet quickly, and repeated "I" whack "HATE" whack "BREAD" whack "BUNS!"

"ME TOO!" Yelled Mr. Roth from another side of the room, chucking a stale roll at the disco ball.

It was a terribly hilarious scene. In his newly acquired taste for destruction Mr. Roth zoomed between the tables grabbing and throwing each plate down:

"THIS" smash "COST" smash "ME" smash "TWO" smash "THOUSANDS"

"WHAAATABIIITCH" Responded the heated server from his side of the room, shaking the broom above his head like a caveman would shake his club

Clutching his crisp two-hund0, the DJ looked over his own table, and knocked down a glass candle holder with a "Fuck you!" as John Legend wailed the last: "all of youuu" The silence fell for a moment as DJ and Mr. Roth locked eyes.

With a quick flip of the switch Elton's "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting" blasted through the speakers

Mr. Roth yelled "YEAAH!!" raising his fist victoriously. The DJ raised his fist in solidarity and announced:

"And now the cake cutting ceremony"

Mr. Roth turned to the frenzied server and stretched out his hand across the room:

"Honey, will you do the honors?"

The server stood rooted in the spot realizing his great destructive potential is about to come to it's full fruition.

He nodded at Mr. Roth, who was already running at the cake from his side, raised the broom above his head and conqueror's scream launched at the seven-tiered confection.

All three of them sat in a row, admiring the peach sunrise above the Golden Gate Bridge. They passed a joint around learning to puff rings of smoke.

"This helps a lot.." Said Mr. Roth referring to the joint

"It really does!" Said the server referring to the rage-smashing

"Mm-hmm" nodded the DJ, referring to the extra Benjamins.


About the Creator

Salomé Saffiri

Writing - is my purpose. I feel elated when my thoughts assume shapes, and turn into Timberwolves, running through the snowbound planes of fresh paper, leaving the black ink of their paw prints behind.

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Reader insights


Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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Comments (1)

  • Randy Baker4 months ago

    Brilliant! And, interestingly, I learned about these "rage rooms" only a few days ago.

Salomé SaffiriWritten by Salomé Saffiri

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