Whenever I ask my roommate what she’s been up to, and she responds with “Well….” while suppressing a nervous laugh, I know I’m in for a good surprise. Once, I came back to find her keeled over from buyer’s remorse over a $5 cactus that she realized was ugly only after making the purchase. Another time, I listened to her describe her plans to drive to Detroit to get nachos from On The Border because she wanted to surprise her boyfriend with dinner from her favorite childhood food chain. The most recent adventure began when she said,“Well… I think I just accidentally bought a $400 bean bag chair.”
Many questions went through my mind. How does one “accidentally” spend $400 on a bean bag chair? How giant is “giant,” exactly?
Apparently, the bean bag in question, purchased from giganticbeanbags.com, would be 6 foot by 6 foot. It would arrive in a large box and expand to take up almost all of our floor space in between the beds. When I asked how she “accidentally” spent $400, she explained,
“I thought that the extra ottoman, pillow, and blanket were free.”
In the following week or two, we prepared for the behemoth’s arrival, clearing up space underneath her bed and laughing over how big we thought it would be.
The day it arrived, my roommate was in a rush to leave our house and tried to open the front door, only to be stopped by a large box in the way. She said she spent a few minutes angrily slamming the door against the box, asking, “Who would order a box this big?”
It was only after eeking out of the doorway that she looked at the box and said, “Oh wait, I ordered this!”
It was the beanbag chair. She said that there was even a comically small package — someone else’s — placed on top of the bean bag box, as if mocking the size of her large order.
When we finally got around to opening the box that evening, my roommate shrieked as she unzipped the case, revealing a cube that looked frighteningly like a brain. This was the legendary bean bag chair, in its purest form.
We spent the next hour or so arranging the chair, which required us to put on the soft cover and to pull on the fabric so that the chair could expand.
Once the bean bag was finally fluffed out and in its place, we invited friends to our room so that they could see it for themselves. We then spent the next 30 minutes listening to “Love Me” by Justin Bieber and jumping on and around the beanbag in true dance party fashion, to which one of our housemates said, “This feels like a fever dream.”
Now, my roommate and I get to enjoy the beanbag in all of its glory. When asked whether or not it was worth the money, my roommate said, “It may have been $400, but at least I spent it on something I can actually keep and not just at the vending machine like I did last year.”
Though my roommate may be a little quirky, I always feel a smile coming on whenever I hear the classic “Well…”