Living with Taryn seemed great at first. She was cheerful, easy to talk to, and gave the impression of being someone who had her life together. Things started off smoothly, and I thought I had lucked out in having such a friendly roommate. But as time passed, I began to notice certain patterns—patterns that made me question just how responsible she really was.
Taryn had this peculiar habit of asking me to pick up groceries for her. It wasn’t just any groceries, though; she always wanted the pricey, fancy stuff. Gourmet cheeses, exotic fruits, imported chocolates—her taste was as expensive as it was specific. She’d smile and promise, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back!”
At first, I didn’t think much of it. But days turned into weeks, and her promises to pay me back turned into excuses. Whenever I brought it up, she’d wave her hand and laugh, saying, “Oh, I totally forgot! I’ll get you next time.” It was always “next time,” but next time never seemed to arrive.
Then came the day that broke the camel’s back. Taryn was planning a big party, and she handed me a list—an extravagant list. It had premium wines, caviar, artisanal bread, fancy pastries, and more. She even gave me some cash, but it was nowhere near enough to cover everything. “Don’t worry, I’ll owe you for the rest,” she said casually, as if that were normal.
I had had enough. This time, I decided to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget.
I went shopping, but I had no intention of buying everything exactly as she requested. Instead, I got creative. For the premium wines, I picked up the cheapest bottles I could find but made sure the labels looked fancy.
The gourmet cheeses? I bought plain pre-sliced sandwich cheese and carefully rewrapped it in wax paper. The exotic fruits were swapped for bruised bananas and slightly squished apples I found on sale, and the so-called caviar was nothing more than an inexpensive jar of fish roe.
It didn’t stop there. I went home and spent hours repackaging everything to look upscale. I poured the cheap wine into glass bottles, arranged the cheese slices neatly on a fancy platter, polished the fruit until it shined, and placed the fish roe into a tiny, elegant jar. When I was done, it all looked picture-perfect—a gourmet feast, or so it seemed.
The night of the party arrived, and Taryn was thrilled when she saw the setup. “Oh my God, Alex, this is amazing!” she squealed. She was beaming, and for a brief moment, I wondered if I’d gone too far. But then I remembered all the times she had brushed off paying me back, and my resolve returned.
As the guests arrived, Taryn proudly showed off her “luxurious” spread. Everyone oohed and aahed, complimenting her on her refined taste. She soaked it all in, smiling from ear to ear and acting like the perfect hostess.
But as the night went on, things started to unravel. It began when one guest took a sip of the wine and hesitated. “Huh,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “This tastes… different. Are you sure this is a premium bottle?”
Another guest picked up a slice of cheese, inspecting it closely. “This texture feels a bit off,” she said. “It’s kind of… waxy?”
Someone else took a bite of the fruit salad and frowned. “Are these supposed to be exotic fruits? This is just an apple,” they said, holding up a chunk of bruised fruit.
The final blow came when a particularly enthusiastic guest decided to try the “caviar.” He scooped up a generous portion, put it in his mouth, and immediately gagged. “This isn’t caviar!” he shouted. “This is cheap fish eggs!”
Taryn’s face turned crimson as the murmurs of disappointment spread through the room. Her guests started whispering, their admiration quickly turning into curiosity about what had gone wrong. Taryn hurried over to me, her eyes blazing with anger.
“Alex, what the hell did you do?” she hissed, pulling me aside. “This stuff is awful! What did you buy?”
I gave her my sweetest smile and said, “Exactly what you asked for—well, sort of. I figured you wouldn’t notice, since you never bother to pay me back anyway.”
Her jaw dropped, and for a moment, she was too stunned to speak. She opened her mouth to argue but realized she had no ground to stand on. I could see the embarrassment settling in as she glanced back at her guests.
After the party, Taryn handed me the money she owed for all the past grocery runs. Every penny. “I guess I deserved that,” she mumbled, avoiding eye contact. I could tell she was genuinely embarrassed, and honestly, it felt good to finally get through to her.
From that day on, Taryn started doing her own shopping. She never asked me to run errands for her again, and our relationship as roommates became a lot more balanced.
The moral of the story? If you want to live the gourmet life, make sure you can pay for it yourself. And as for me, I learned that standing up for yourself—even in creative ways—can be incredibly satisfying. What do you think of the story? Share your thoughts in the comments below!
