You press the button.

Ding.

This time, lining the walls are display cases.

And in the cases?

A

Bunch

Of

These.

I’ve never understood why this was a thing.

I mean, in Midwestern United States, every grandmother worth her salt has a display cabinet of some sort, with at least one of these in it.

The plates aren’t meant to be used. Oh no, they’re never to be used.

They’re to be looked at. They’re to be dusted every week. They’re heirlooms, presumably. And any child who got their fingers within a foot and a half of one was severely reprimanded.

The really old ones are worth quite a lot. Like, hundreds of thousands of dollars quite a lot. They’re put in those specific plate-holding stands and set on velvet-covered stands in museums and private collections.

I happily admit that they’re pretty. The detail in them is cool. And anything over 400 years old is epic by default.

But I’ll never understand the mentality behind collecting plates.

Anyways, there are about two hundred plates in this room. If you’re an expert in ancient dishware (which I’m presuming you aren’t) you’ll be able to tell that these are actually pretty recently made. Not one of these plates is over a decade old.

Meaning they’re probably pretty cheap.

And there aren’t any Midwestern grandmothers in the room with you.

You know what that means, don’t you?

That’s right. You start smashing them.

The first few hit the floor and shatter in a very satisfying way. Then you just stick your arm out and walk along the wall, pushing the plates to the ground one by one.

Crash.

Crash.

Crash.

Crash.

A couple of plates become frisbees. They fly surprisingly well, and shatter against the far wall in a beautiful explosion of white ceramic.

You shove one of the cases away from the wall, get behind it, and push it over.

Oh, the sound that made is better than anything any ASMR video could hope to achieve.

I think this is the first time you’ve ever really enjoyed yourself in this room. The sheer amount of destruction is beautiful. You take out some of your issues on the plates, and it feels wonderful.

Admit it, you’ve dreamed about this, haven’t you?

Hell, I know I have. I’ve seriously considered going out and buying cheap plates just for smashing them, but something in my adult bones says that isn’t an adult thing to do, so I never have.

...You know what? I might do it one of these days. Watching you having so much fun is tempting me to go for it.

After all, who’s going to stop me?

No one is stopping you. And look at that grin on your face.

This is extremely therapeutic for you.

I want plates to be therapeutic for me, too.

Finally all the plates are smashed. You stomp on the last half-plate, cracking it into a dozen pieces.

Done.

…

Out of sheer curiosity, you take a semi-large pointy shard, and stab it into the button.

Ding.

WHY DID YOU DO THAT? Já Nei