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You’ve probably never examined the ceilings at Hill House. More likely, you’ve seen the rubber-treaded basement stairs, damp floors and vomit-caked toilet rims (whether these images have stuck with you on Sunday morning is another matter).
My roommate and I, on the other hand, are ceiling experts. The ceiling on second Hill, where we live, is a grid of removable white panels. It’s the kind of ceiling you find in office buildings, but with glow-in-the-dark plastic stars, left by a previous resident. On Thursday nights, Jake and I often stare at the ceiling as it buzzes and creeks under the weight of a late night game of beer pong above.
On a recent Friday morning after an unusually loud night, Jake pointed out that the ceiling above his bed was sagging. While we waited for the facilities department to process our work request, I regularly checked to see if the bulge had grown. I dreamed of waking in a heap of asbestos and red Solo cups.
On Monday afternoon, workers removed six ceiling panels that had been angling downward. I was curious to see what was in the empty space (Pipes? Wires? Mice?), so after the workers left, I pushed aside a pile of sweaters, climbed onto Jake’s dresser and stuck my head into the uncovered space between the ceiling and third floor. At first I saw only darkness. Then I saw the outline of something rectangular, just to the left of my head. I reached for it, and pulled out a video cassette. It was covered in thick dust. I wiped the cover on my jeans to reveal a beautiful bronze woman and a title: Playboy Video Playmate Calendar 1997. Jake had it digitized soon afterward.
These are screenshots of what people thought was sexy in the 90’s. Enjoy.