When the first shovelful of dirt hits the surface above me, I wonder if I wasn’t wrong in springing for the glass coffin option at ‘The Graveyard Capsule Hotel.’ My instinct was that the glass would provide some relief from the oppressive claustrophobia of the situation, at least at the outset, but a traditionally opaque coffin would have given me the opportunity to pretend that something else- anything else, really- was happening. With the dim light allotted to my “room,” which, to be fair, is bigger than a coffin should be, I pick up the check-in information and attempt to focus on the information presented there. It reminds me, in words that are infuriating in their calm, that the concierge will be using only enough dirt to provide even coverage and that I won’t be a full six-feet deep.
It also suggests ringing the front office a full 30 minutes before needing to use the restroom. The coffin door can be opened at any time, it reminds me, but I’m on the line for sheets that may be muddied by dirt that hasn’t been properly cleared away before exit.
A rock thuds down on the plexiglass above me and I click off the light to find myself in the pitch dark of under-earth. I recommit to my plan to just fall asleep and get it over with.
Glad I’m not wearing a suit.
‘Travelers are advised against ‘The Graveyard Capsule Hotel,’ which bills itself as a pop-up mortality experience. ‘The Experience’ appears suddenly in different parts of the country, always leaving before inquiries about public land usage can be made, and there have been at least three confirmed instances of ‘accidental abandonment,’ meaning that three people were forgotten in the ground past their normal check-out time and, for one reason or another, were unable to immediately free themselves.
“We think of that as part of ‘The Experience,’ you know,’ said Peter Dahl, owner and operator of ‘The Graveyard Capsule Hotel.’ Not everyone who dies gets flowers on their grave.”
When sleep proves difficult I order a mug of ‘sleepytime’ tea from the room-service line, without really considering the logistics. There is something chemical about the brew, I note, and then I wake up nearly a full day later, well-rested and wet with spilled tea. A note pinned to my pillow suggests the money for the tea has been withdrawn from my wallet.
Not bad, from a service perspective.
-traveler
