Guest Bwogger Zane tells the tale of her first-semester torment, something that could only happen in Carman.

Let me set the scene: it was 3 AM on a brisk, stormy Tuesday night. Projects and papers flooded the workload of my roommate and I as we procrastinated by co-shopping on Amazon’s endless indulgences. We saw a kiddie pool, and jokes flowed about getting one for our dorm and having a January pool party. But suddenly, inspiration sparked. A swimming pool…but filled with Orbeez. The squishy, fun-filled balls of joy that appeared in all of our childhoods. The lure of two-day free shipping and a $15 gift card won from a random campus survey made the thought irresistible; we ordered a pink inflatable pool and twenty-thousand (20,000) Orbeez. I’m not kidding. Overkill was the intention. Never did I expect the Orbeez would become my worst nightmare.

They arrived, and we began the growing process. The pool took up our entire dorm, every Orbee (is there a singular form of Orbeez?) signifying a final we would fail from the distraction the fundamentally malevolent aura the orbs created. Three days later, when the monsters had reached their full power, people began to knock on our door.

“Can we play with the Orbeez?” they asked.

I had to agree. How could I hold strangers back from the joy those tiny balls brought when they slipped between your fingers in a never-ending cascade of materialized enthusiasm? People submerged their hands, bodies, souls— anything they could in the pool. We considered charging money, like a zoo.

However, soon the Orbeez had taken over our lives. I began to find them in my bed, my hair, even the bottom of a bowl of Wednesday tomato soup from Ferris. The pool forced us to only be able to leave our room through a path that rivaled the Minotaur’s Labyrinth. I could not deal with the Orbeez anymore. I was known as Orbeez girl—and it was a title I neither expected nor wanted. However, we did not know how to rid our lives of the demons they had become. 20,000 Orbeez haunted my dreams. One night, I dreamt that every time I spoke, only Orbeez would flow out -a transformation straight from Ovid’s Metamorphoses.

Finally, I was fed up. In a fury of determination, I flushed roughly 537 down the toilet. Then I remembered the turtles—what would Orbeez do to our marine friends? I had to find another way. I had to save the turtles, yet save myself from the dystopia I had created. My friends and I took it upon ourselves to travel to different dorm floors with mugs full of Orbeez, distributing the evil peasants among different trash cans. Three hours later, I was rid of the Orbeez.

Please, please, never talk to me about this again. I am chronicling this to forever be remembered as the stupidest thing a freshman has ever done. But I never want to think or hear about it again. Take this as a message to beware late-night Amazon perusals and ball-shaped objects. I am haunted by my bad decisions, and how such a joyous time could quickly become so devastating. If I ever see another Orbee, please be there to catch me as I faint from misery.

Orbeez orbeez orbeez via Guest Bwogger