Hi, up here! It’s me, a twenty-year-old woman trapped in a Pottery Barn Catalina Twin-Over-Twin Bunk Bed. Could you help me get down from the top bunk of this bunk bed?
Look, I know what you’re thinking: “Wow, that bunk bed is the coolest thing I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and that unemployed twenty-year-old is not too old for that shockingly expensive bunk bed intended for twin children.” Also, “How the fuck did she get stuck on the top bunk of that bunk bed?”
First of all, thank you, my thoughts exactly.
Second of all, because much like Icarus, I attempted to fly too close to the sun, and in a move fueled by ego and ignorant bravery, I purchased a terrifying seven-foot-tall bunk bed instead of opting for the casual six-foot bunk bed recommended for children four and up. Now, I am stuck at this frightening height, prepared to plummet into the carpet at record speeds and feel the life drain out of me as my organs transform to mush on the plushy, carpeted ground.
As such, I was hoping you could call 911 and get a military-grade helicopter to drill a hole through my ceiling to airlift me down safely.
I see that you’re confused as to why I don’t just climb down the ladder that accompanies this death-defying structure. Unfortunately, the architect who designed this bunk bed did not take into account the height and weight difference between a six-year-old child and me, a twenty-year-old woman who spends most of her day eating Takis and watching Gilmore Girls on Netflix. As a result, the weak ladder shakes violently anytime I attempt to climb down, threatening to tip and kill me at a moment’s notice.
I can tell that you’re also wondering if I’ve considered any other options besides getting the Navy Seals to come and rescue me from this bed. Well, over the past seventy-two hours that I’ve been trapped in this bunk bed, I’ve combed through every possible alternative solution: grabbing the side of the bunk bed and swinging to the ground American Ninja Warrior style, sacrificing my two fat cats and using them to cushion for my fall, simply just staying up here and continuing to watch Gilmore Girls. All of those choices, however, would contain an unparalleled level of risk and would likely result in my untimely demise.
Also, I’ve run out of Takis, so I don’t really want to stay up here and just keep watching Gilmore Girls without a snack.
Listen, I know that you’re hesitant to help me out and that these are simply the consequences of my own actions. And maybe it’s true this situation simply could have been avoided if I just bought a bed that was a normal distance from the floor as opposed to one that rivals the height of the Empire State Building.
Sure. But at what cost?
You see, I bought this bunk bed because I wanted to experience the world on my own terms. I wanted to understand how Alex Honnold felt as he free-soloed the face of El Capitan. I wanted to feel the way American heroes like Neil Armstrong, Virginia Woolf, and Richard Nixon felt as they slept in bunk beds the nights before they made history. I wanted to change my perspective by metaphorically staring down at the minuscule orb of humanity that we call our planet and literally looking down at the clothes that have piled up into a monstrous mound on my floor over the past three weeks.
Behind every great man may be a great woman. But behind every great woman is an epic bunk bed. And now, as a changed woman, just know that if you help me get down from this bunk bed, I fully intend on using my newfound perspective to change the world.
I’ll go out and find a cure for cancer. I’ll engineer solutions to create a net-zero energy world. Most likely, I’ll probably just crawl back into this bunk bed immediately again and watch more Gilmore Girls.
So, what do you say, buddy? Will you help a girl out?
Wait, where are you going? HEY!