Chapter 2: The Reality Sets In

When I finally finished assembling the bean bag, the anticipated comfort was nowhere to be found. The evening heat made it impossible to sit on; it felt like an object that had absorbed the sun’s energy.

Additionally, I quickly recognized that this oversized bean bag consumed a significant amount of space in my already cramped studio apartment. In a city where rental value is measured in square meters, I was sacrificing precious space for an unnecessarily large piece of furniture. The bean bag wouldn't even fit neatly in a corner; it was wedged between the couch and a wall, making it even bulkier than intended.

Sinking into it felt less like drifting on a cloud and more like being engulfed by a mummified creature—a rather unappealing mental image. Nestled next to a heater, I also feared it might ignite and set the entire building ablaze. Regret began to seep in.

Still, my commitment to the Sunk Cost Fallacy compelled me to make the most of my decision. But how could I continue living with such a glaring mistake? Its presence loomed over me, a constant reminder of my impulsive choice.

Section 2.1: Attempting to Adjust

There’s a stereotype that men struggle with home decor, and I thought I was breaking that mold by living in a chic IKEA showroom. But it turned out I was just as guilty. Upon entering my apartment, you were met with the sight of this enormous black sack.

After a few months, I decided to make it more manageable by removing half of the beans. However, I faced another dilemma: where to store the removed beans? I ended up purchasing plastic containers for them. As I opened the zipper of the bean bag and poured its contents into the containers, it felt like I was emptying a massive bag of sugar. The visual resemblance was uncanny, but I had no intention of sampling the beans.

After transferring the beans, I faced yet another awkward situation. The containers looked suspiciously like they held illegal substances, which made me uncomfortable when storing them in the basement of my shared building. I felt like I was harboring contraband, with all the negative implications but none of the perks.

Chapter 3: The Attempt to Sell

After a year filled with regret, I resolved to cut my losses. The burden of my financial mistake had grown too heavy. But how would I sell this monstrosity? I figured dismantling it would take as long as assembling it.

So, one Saturday morning, I created an account on leboncoin.fr, France’s equivalent of eBay, and listed it for sale. Unsure of how to describe it, I chose brutal honesty. I noted that I had purchased it for over €428 but that it was simply too large for my apartment. I even asked ChatGPT to help me refine my French description.

I set the price at €35. Perhaps I was undervaluing it, but I just wanted to close this chapter of my life. To my surprise, I received an offer almost immediately.

However, the buyer had a peculiar request: they wanted to pay using an unfamiliar app called Paylib. Eager to finalize the sale, I complied and provided my phone number.

A short while later, I received a suspicious text indicating that the payment had been sent, but required me to enter my credit card details on a linked website. Without thinking, I filled out my information and pressed enter. A loading screen appeared, followed by a message saying I would receive a phone call to complete the transaction.

Section 3.1: The Scam Uncovered

It was at that moment I began to feel uneasy. The website looked unprofessional, and the buyer's surname was misspelled in the text message. Suddenly, my heart sank.

When my phone rang, I answered only to hear a man with a heavy accent speaking in French. Unsure how to respond, I expressed my doubt about the legitimacy of the call. He then mentioned passing me to the gendarmerie—yes, the French police.

“Bonjour,” said the supposed officer, which prompted me to hang up. I ignored his calls thereafter.

With my heart racing, I quickly changed my bank password and locked my card, but ended up locked out of my account due to the adrenaline. I feared I had just fallen victim to a scam and was about to lose two years' worth of savings over a bean bag.

Despite feeling vulnerable, I stepped out to buy fruit at the market, only to be so unsettled I could barely function. Thankfully, I later received an email from my bank confirming that no funds had been withdrawn. The EU’s online purchase regulations had saved me, as without my app details, the scammers were powerless.

Chapter 4: Moving On

Although the scammer was not pleased that I backed out of the sale, I found humor in their threats about legal action. The sudden shift in their writing quality made me suspect they were trying to intimidate me.

After that experience, I hesitated to return to leboncoin, feeling untrustworthy. Yet, the urge to rid myself of the bean bag resurfaced. I returned to the site and found another interested buyer. This time, I was cautious, asking multiple questions to gauge their seriousness. I made it clear how massive the bean bag was and that it would require at least two cars to transport it.

Although that sale fell through due to complications, another buyer expressed interest. On a Sunday morning, I prepared the bean bag for pickup, removing about 70% of the beans. Watching the beans spill out felt oddly mesmerizing, like performing a peculiar surgery.

When the buyer and her friend arrived, they were taken aback by the size of the bean bag. After handing me a crisp €50 note, we completed the transaction.

As they loaded their cars, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. To any onlooker, it would have appeared as if they were loading a body bag and suspicious containers into their vehicle—a typical Sunday morning scene.

Although I lost over €340 on the sale, I felt immense relief. After an hour spent vacuuming up the leftover beans, I finally stood in my apartment, appreciating the newfound space. The horror that had consumed my living room was gone, leaving me with a sense of peace.

Though Paris is known as the city of love, for me, it will forever be the city of oversized bean bags.