When kids misbehave, many parents have a time out corner, a time out chair or a time out rug.
We had "The Penalty Box."
If I was being a dork, my parents would put me in the penalty box until I could calm down and behave myself. Needless to say, I spent some real quality time in the penalty box.
I suppose the location could have changed, depending on where the offense occurred, but mine usually ended up at the top of the stairs leading down under the garage. There was a door at the top that my parents could shut so they wouldn't hear me protest how unfair it was that I had to sit there.
Here is the part where I wasn't the brightest crayon in the box (aside from getting put there in the first place). Under the garage, we had a room. This room contained toys, videos, the piano and the TV (although we didn't get any channels ... it was just for movies).
Did I ever think to take a little trip downstairs to play for a while? Nope. I just sat there kicking the door with my feet, yelling until I decided I wanted my freedom again.