When we first arrived at the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum last Sunday evening, we only bought tickets for the haunted house and the flashlight tour of the morgue. “Most people come back and buy tickets for the second tour after they’re done with the first,” the ticket booth lady told us. And sure enough, once the flashlight tour was over, Seri and I exchanged knowing looks; it was pretty clear we needed to take the other tour, too. God are we suckers.
I really liked that older couple up there in that picture! They were also in our group inside the haunted house and the old man was gracious enough to hang back after Seri and I got disoriented inside the foggy maze and I screamed, “PLEASE DON’T LEAVE US, WE’RE LO-HAWHAWHAWHAW-SSSST!” Andthen his wife-person handed us glossy advertisements for the joint after the wheelchaired ticket taker refused to relinquish the ticket stubs for the second flashlight tour. (I really thought I could fool him the second time around.)
We stayed inside the main building for this one, which would eventually land us in the Experimental Therapy ward. My Boyfriend In A Hoodie unfortunately did not join us for this tour. The Camera-Happy Couple did, though. Thank god.
The nurses would pass the patients cigarettes through this hole. If I were Henry, I would take me back to that place and pass me an engagement ring through that.
Henry would never think of something that romantic.
This picture accurately depicts what the world looks like to me without my Big Green Glasses. I took this picture because our guide told us that another guide had a tour up there (it was a ghost-hunting tour), and there was distinct activity coming from beyond those doors. When the guide suggested they check it out, the whole tour retreated to the stairwell and left her up there alone. WTF!? What a lame fucking group.
So our guide got us all amped for that, only to continue walking in the opposite direction! What the hell!?
One of the experimental therapy exam rooms! In addition to the standard shock therapy practices, this asylum also got all up in some eye sockets by administering trans-orbital lobotomies. I was totally into this part of the tour.
I was dawdling at the rear of the group in an effort to get a picture of this lonely wheelchair that would have such a great home with me, when a loud, staccato cry rang out in the next room where most of the group was.
There were two stairwells and numerous doors in this area; the sound seemed to have come from the left, away from our group, perhaps either from the stairwells or back in one of the other rooms. It was totally obvious that everyone heard it, people were shifting around nervously, but not one person said a thing about it. Not even the guide. So I chalked it up to someone coughing or a squeaking shoe, but later Seri backed up my original thoughts by swearing, “No, I heard it too. Everyone heard it. It totally sounded like a bark!”
Clearly, we need to go back there.
Right after that, we entered another section of the floor, where our guide told us a story about some poor man whose whorebitch wife admitted him to the hospital for alcoholism, where he met his untimely demise in the men’s room after some asshole who actually deserved to be there stabbed him 17 times. The guy was able to drag himself to the nearby nurses station before bleeding out on the floor.
Of course, Camera-Happy Couple had a field day posing candidly for each other by the latrines.
(Who am I kidding? I probably would have done the same if I wasn’t terrified of my picture being taken because I’m the fattest fatty who ever fatted.)
Looks cozy to me.
Adding a portrait of angry soldier-types make even the chilliest abodes seem homier. It’s good that they tried to cheer up the patients through art.
Supposedly, some people have taken pictures of this mirror and have spotted other faces in the reflection. I got really excited at first because it looks like there is a face with glowing eyes in the righthand of the picture below, but I think that’s probably just Seri.
Her eyes are always glowing with fire and brimstone.
And that concludes our tour of the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum.
When Seri dropped me off at home, it was past midnight. I poked my head through the passenger side door and said in a sing-song voice, “Hopefully we didn’t bring anything back with us. You know, like ghosts.” I let that sink in for a second, and then sang out, “Goodnight!” as Seri’s face filled with horror.
She loves when I do that to her late at night when she has to drive home alone. I’m a good friend!