A Twilight Zone Vibe In Prototype: The Experimental Museum

      One day a couple of months ago while scrolling through Facebook, I came across a post touting a place located somewhere in Columbus called Prototype: The Experimental Museum.

      Intrigued, I went to the link provided and found this description on the Prototype home page:

        I decided that I, too, definitely wanted to check this place out.
​        I read no more but opted then and there to buy tickets to this "experimental museum" for my mate Tom and myself. Sometimes it's more fun not knowing too much.
       Except we did need to know the location, which we learned was in Audubon Park, a peaceful nature center in downtown Columbus along the Scioto River. 

     And so on a snowy Monday, March 2, we headed out to Audubon Park for our 2 pm time slot at Prototype. We found the place at the edge of the park in what appeared to be a repurposed warehouse.

     In the lobby we were greeted by a couple of friendly youngsters, who told us a little more about the place.

       We learned that Prototype was created by a local company that designs exhibits for museums, and that each exhibit here is an interactive experiment, a prototype to be tested and played with by humans, then refined and improved over time.
        As the wall signs explained:     

     Though all the information about this venue clearly stated that it was not for children under the age of 16, I could hear a child's chattering coming from the direction of what I assumed (correctly) was the restrooms. 

       "So much for no kids allowed," I quipped to my mate.    
​      I stepped into the restroom area, where the sinks were out in the hallway, 

...then I looked over where women's rooms were,

...but the chattering child was in none of those places. Then out in the hallway I saw the poster next to the sinks:

        The "child" was one of the exhibits, an "AI agent with the personality of a child," the purpose of which has not been revealed. A weence creepy, I thought, and I'll bet I'm not the only grown up tricked by that bot kid voice.
      True, it was the middle of a Monday afternoon, still it felt a little odd that the lobby was empty except for Tom and me. ​

     I asked one of the staff members if we were the only visitors in the building. They said no, there were a few more people here, but that the six exhibit areas were so spread out that we likely wouldn't see anyone else. Also a weence creepy.
        Feeling a bit of a Twilight Zone vibe, we stepped through the door of area  1.

    The first exhibit we came ​across was this "Boundless Elevator," 

...a sort of sensory lab experiment that involved entering the "elevator," then turning the crank in one direction or another, which determined, based on the movement of the lights, whether one had the sensation of going up or going down while actually going nowhere.  (Seemed to me there was something metaphoric about this experiment).
         From there we navigated our way around the rest of the exhibits and areas.
          Among the sights was a digital art exhibit that asked thought-provoking questions,

...and gave  the option of magnifying details of the pictures.

      An especially amusing activity was the caterpillar race, where one could design a computer caterpillar then race him against other computer caterpillars. First one designed one's caterpillar on a screen. As I am not an afficionado of creepy crawly things, even virtual ones, Tom opted to design a caterpillar. He decided to have it resemble a tomato worm, tomato worms being big, ugly green critters that not even birds will eat.
         He made his tomato worm extra fat with horns and bumps and red stripes and purple polka dots. He was then required to name his caterpillar, so he named him "Donald J."

     The computer then gave him a scientific name which  we found oh, so pleasing and  appropriate:

     Tom's Donaldjia egregia then lined up with four other computer caterpillars, generic models, I imagine, and the race began.

      Now, the way the race worked, Donaldjia egregia was powered by a wheel that Tom had to turn. The faster Tom turned the wheel, the faster his critter ran. 

​   We don't know who or what was powering the other caterpillar contestants, but for a while Donaldjia egregia was in the lead.

    But by the end he just couldn't keep up.

      The winner.

      We concluded that making him an XXL-sized caterpillar with all those horns and knobs probably slowed him down. 'Twould have been better to keep him sleek (unlike his namesake).
       There was a virtual reef that allowed one to reverse the effects of global warming by pulling a lever.  

     (If only the pull of a lever were all it took to repair a real reef).
​     In one dark space there was a veil that appeared to dance over a fountain of air,  

...and a giant eyeball whose gaze followed one around.

      There was a Tarot card exhibit, 

...and a wheel of misfortune that  gave the chances of how one might die.

       And with just Tom and I by ourselves in this eerie space, I could almost think of the dialogue for a Twilight Zone episode.
​       But there was also a happiness survey,       

...which I couldn't really figure out how to read,

...but which was accompanied by a wall full of pigeon holes divided into sections by age where folks were invited to leave a thought in their age group on the secret to a happy life. Others could read the thoughts left in the pigeon holes.

     I left a thought in my age group section:     

...and I read a few left by others of my contemporaries:

     There was a room full of sparkling strands of LED lights,

...in which was located a love hug mannequin that purported to be able to identify a person's love style based on how they hugged.

      Here was my love style based on my hug of the mannequin,

...and Tom's based on his hug.

     At the end of the exhibits we entered a beautiful bar where one could order a drink,      

...or just sit for a while, which we did,

...and watched an engaging film about dancers.

      We spent a good two-and-a-half hours at Prototype, and the above exhibits were only some of the sensory wonders we experienced there. As we were leaving I couldn't help thinking how much Rod Serling would have loved this place.