My Personal ‘Backrooms’

There’s a reason why ‘Backrooms’ struck such a chord for me

A24

It’s possible that my best decision throughout my entire high school career was dropping pre-calculus in eleventh grade. This was partly because I had lost all interest in math by the time I reached middle school, and partly because the class’s teacher was a chalk-wielding, smiley-faced sadist. But mostly, I’m thankful I dropped it because it meant I could fill that void with something more meaningful instead.

With a schedule full of honors classes and extracurriculars to juggle, I chose study hall. But I knew full well that the period would rarely be used for studying.

One of the greatest privileges of playing saxophone in my school band was that it afforded me an opportunity to get my hands on the hallowed “study hall band pass.” Fortunately for me, disobedience was a rare trait among fellow band kids. So when given a pass to the band room to flash at teachers during study hall, we were implicitly trusted to use it properly. Few besides myself had even considered how such a permit could be abused.

Fewer still were good enough climbers.

Rather than simply cordoning myself in a practice room and rehearsing as I was supposed to, I’d remove my baritone saxophone from its case, drape it around my neck, and sneak my way toward the vacant auditorium nearby. Backstage, where performers would queue during band concerts and chorus recitals before the curtains would rise, I’d balance the unwieldy instrument between a couple of loose chairs and look around to guarantee I was alone.

Then, I’d hoist myself atop the lever and pulley system that operated the curtains. Putting my status as the high school pull-up champion to far more practical use, I proceeded to climb almost three vertical stories until I reached a catwalk a few feet wide and nine or ten feet across. There, I found a door that granted access to nearly every part of the school that students were never intended to see.