GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1101: THE BACKROOMS

 Last week I went to Superdawg with my buddy, Fitz. By the time we got there, I had to piss bad, so we went to Walgreen's and sought out the restroom.

Ever need to use the bathroom at any Walgreen's? It's weird. As soon as you push through the door, you're in an area that looks like it's for employees only. You usually walk past the breakroom and lockers before you get to the men's room.

It was the same for this one, except we had to walk down a hallway, make a turn and go down another one. It really felt like we weren't supposed to be there.

I took the urinal, and Fitz took the stall. He asked if I'd seen the movie, The Backrooms. I hadn't, but I was aware of it.

I'm probably aging myself here, but I don't understand the concept. I'm not sure why people are so affected by "liminal spaces." I do not feel unsettled in such areas. It doesn't feel weird. I just see these as places where something used to be, but it's empty now. That emptiness does not get to me at all. Oh, this is where the Sears backroom used to be. There's nothing here now. Anyway, moving on . . .

So I told Fitz about this, and we went across the street to Superdawg. As we stood in the enclosure, waiting for our food, I noticed they'd taken down all the framed notices for whenever a newspaper or magazine featured them. I asked Fitz when they'd done it. He didn't know.

"We could be in an alternate universe," he said.

Had we crossed over in the Walgreen's bathroom? I checked my phone. "What are the odds that our cellphones are compatible with this universe?" I asked.

"If we're in the universe next door? Pretty good." We both used to work in telecom, but he'd left the business last year. I hadn't worked in it since 2020, so he was probably right.

"Let's ask someone who the president is," I said. "Who knows? Being trapped in an alternate universe might not be all that bad."

We got our food, which was excellent (of course), and on the drive home I realized we'd forgotten to go back to our universe.

And then we drove past a sign declaring one's fealty to President Donald J. Trump. I sighed. "It probably doesn't matter."

"Unfortunately," he said.

Also, I was very high.

Out of curiosity, anyone here get creeped out by the concept of the backrooms? Can you explain it to me? Is it, like, a feeling of dread? What do you experience in these places? Is it an odd sensation?

What am I missing?