Chapter 4

That evening, the living room couch became our new battleground. Only one TV, only one remote.

I was dying to watch a comedy variety show, but Eric insisted on the financial news.

I planted my flag. "Entertainment fuels productivity. If you don't relax, you can't work."

He fired back. "Staying informed is essential for any modern person. Fall behind on the economy, fall behind on life."

We were two generals in a stalemate, neither willing to surrender.

Then Eric proposed what he called a "fair" solution.

"We'll auction by the minute. Whoever wants control pays the other two dollars per minute for exclusive viewing rights."

I stared at his completely serious face and felt an overwhelming urge to slap him.

I gave up. Quietly, I slipped back to my room and watched my favorite comedy show on my phone.

If I couldn't beat him, I would avoid him.

*****

Living with Eric meant living with stickers. There were little yellow energy-saving labels on every appliance, fridge, AC, and washing machine. Nothing escaped his obsession with efficiency.

He'd even quietly collect my half-empty water bottles and use them the next morning to water his precious balcony plants.

He called it "resource optimization" and "circular economy."

I couldn't stand it anymore. Being watched and criticized from every angle, there was no way I could survive another day like this.

If talking sense wouldn't work, fine. Time for drastic measures.

I opened my shopping app and launched my little revenge scheme.

I went on purpose and bought a bunch of ridiculously oversized, totally pointless stuff.

A life-sized teddy bear big enough to swallow half the living room.

A dozen hula hoops in every color, dumped dramatically in the corner.

Crate after crate of snacks, all packaging, almost no snacks inside.

I was going to cram his precious minimalist space with so much junk his thrifty little heart would explode.

I would show him I wasn't someone to mess with.

The packages started arriving. And with every delivery, I caught Eric's eye twitching.

He stared at the pile of boxes accumulating in the living room like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon.

That was right. Welcome to the consequences of your own cheapness, Eric.

I unwrapped the giant teddy bear right in front of him, plopping it onto the couch so it consumed both seats.

Then I ripped open a bag of chips and crunched loudly, letting crumbs fly everywhere like confetti.

I was waiting for him to snap. I wanted him to yell at me so I could finally argue back with a clear conscience.

But he didn't snap. Instead, Eric gave me this long, complicated look that made my stomach flip.

Then he turned silently and walked to the storage room.

He came back with a giant trash bag and a box cutter. Without a word, he started breaking down the boxes I'd ordered.

He flattened the cardboard boxes, stacked them up neatly, and tied them together with string.

He sorted the plastic foam and packing materials into another bag.

The whole time, Eric was silent. The only thing I could hear was the box cutter slicing through cardboard.

My smug little victory started to fade, replaced by a weird sense of unease. What was he doing?

An hour later, the living room was spotless. Eric had bundled all the cardboard into a neat stack by the door, bags of recyclables beside it.

He brushed off his hands, walked over, and held something out to me.

In his palm were a few crumpled bills and some coins. "Here you go, it's yours," he said.

I blinked, confused. "Mine? What are you talking about?"

"Cash from the recyclables." His voice was perfectly flat. "Twelve dollars in total. Ten for the cardboard, two for the plastic.

"You ordered everything, so the boxes belong to you. So does the money.

"But I did the sorting and bundling. That's labor. The market rate for that kind of work is about ten percent commission. So one point two."

He took exactly one dollar from my hand, then picked out two ten-cent coins.

Then he pressed the rest back into my palm, face completely calm. "Pleasure doing business with you."

I stared down at the eleven dollars in my palm, then looked up at his face, calm as ever. And suddenly, this overwhelming wave of exhaustion hit me.

All my carefully planned revenge turned out to be another way for him to turn a profit.

Not only did I fail to get under his skin, but I'd actually paid him one point two dollars for the privilege.

In that moment, I found myself weirdly admiring his legendary thriftiness.

I lost. And honestly, I had to admit he'd won fair and square.