What they don’t say about ‘A Room with a Spider Hidden in it Somewhere’ is that ‘The Room’ is massive but cramped and chaotic with the sort of things one might expect to find in a grandpa’s basement. It’s clean, though. Dust-free. Information at the front desk suggested that this for the health of the spider and because cobwebs would make the game unfair for the human participants.
‘Fair to call this another simulation destination, ‘The Room with a Spider Hidden in it Somewhere’ advertises itself, also, as a skill-building experience and a nature-exploration center. The latter aspect tends to take center stage in its most recent advertising campaigns, leaning on an almost insufferable insistence that there are whole realms of nature that have been neglected because people flock immediately to the lush green of the actual outdoors, ignoring the varied and valid life that lives in basements and attics and sometimes ventures forth to appear in a cupboard or drawer when least expected. How has it that this noble corner of the world has gone unilluminated for so long? This question, it clarifies, is rhetorical. Spiders don’t like much light.
So, turn your back on that natural park or that world-renowned zoo and travel to ‘The Room with a Spider Hidden in it Somewhere’ or risk being, and this is a quote, a ‘nature-normie’ like the rest of the schlubs who read billboards about ‘The Room’ and drive on by.’
Comforting, at least a little, is that ‘The Room’ does seem to operate on a set of thin rules. The first rule is that the spider shouldn’t be killed, which I suppose is kind. The second is that winning the simulation involves finding the spider without killing it or being bitten, and here the bold is to represent that the actual text is presented in that dramatic, dripping blood font usually reserved for Halloween decorations, making it difficult to know whether the spider in the room is legitimately venomous or if it’s a dramatic reference.
The last rule, and probably the dealbreaker for most, is that participants can only dress in one of the robes ‘The Room’ provides, which are, it turns out, pretty short in all dimensions. It certainly adds a layer of vulnerability to the experience- I acknowledge as much as I carefully turn over a chipped mug and, finding it empty, pull open a filing cabinet drawer.
Something brushes over my bare toes and I reflexively kick, cringing as something insectile knocks against the wall and slides to the base. When I get closer look, I see that it’s a centipede, now quite dead.
“Does this mean I lose?” I ask, assuming someone is observing all this.
The centipede twitches.
There is a pause and then an intercom cracks to life. “Nah, that’s all right. Keep looking.”
-traveler
