So, let’s talk about my old roommate, whom we’ll call Pete. Now, Pete was an interesting character, to say the least. He had his quirks, but nothing prepared me for what I eventually discovered about his, shall we say, unique lifestyle choices.
Pete was a devoted Pepsi Max fan. I mean, it was the only thing he ever drank. I bet if he were stranded on a desert island, he would find a way to harvest coconut water and turn it into a Pepsi Max-infused smoothie. His love for this soda was so intense that you’d think it was going to be the next big health trend. So, naturally, his bedroom looked like the aftermath of a Pepsi Max factory explosion, with empty bottles littered everywhere.
At first, I didn’t think much of it. I got used to the sight of bottles piled up like a recycling mountain in his corner. But as time went on, I started to notice something…off. Occasionally, when Pete left his door slightly ajar, I would catch a glimpse inside his lair. And what did I see? Not just a sea of empty Pepsi Max bottles, but also—how do I say this tactfully?—bottles that were, in fact, full of his urine.
Yeah, you read that right. Pete wasn’t just drinking his beloved soda; he was also using the empty bottles as makeshift pee containers. Talk about resourcefulness, right? But come on, this wasn’t just a lack of foresight; it was a whole new level of questionable decision-making. I stared in horror each time I unwittingly caught a glimpse of that scene. It felt like a crime scene—not in the sense of murder, but rather a space where personal hygiene went to die.
Now, you might be thinking, “How did you not confront him about this?” Well, here’s the thing: Pete was a nice guy. He was laid-back and always ready to share a laugh, despite his strange habits. He would often save me a can of Pepsi Max whenever I’d come over, as if serving me a fancy drink at a bar. I didn’t want to ruin our good rapport over something that was almost too bizarre to discuss. So I let it slide, hoping that he would somehow come to the same realization I had about the pee bottles. Spoiler alert: he didn’t.
As the days turned into weeks, the situation became more chaotic. The bottle collection was staggering. I began to wonder if Pete was conducting some kind of experiment where he was trying to measure his hydration levels based on how many bottles he could fill in a week. At this point, I was genuinely concerned that one day he’d invite me in to show off his “research findings.”
Of course, there were always the clichés in roommate scenarios: shared groceries, messy dishes, and the occasional loud music at ungodly hours. But this was different. I began to feel like I was living in a bizarre version of a sitcom, where the laugh track would kick in just as I opened the door to Pete’s room and caught a whiff of—well, let’s say it was less than pleasant.
One day, I finally mustered up the courage to talk to him about it. We were sitting on the couch, and I casually brought up the topic of cleanliness. “You know, Pete,” I said, “I think we should consider trying to keep the common areas and your room a bit tidier. It’s just… well, it’s getting a little overwhelming.” At that moment, I could see a flicker of confusion cross his face as if he had just realized he had been living in a landfill.
After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled awkwardly and promised he would clean things up. I thought, “Great! Maybe he’ll get rid of those pee bottles too.” But within a week, nothing had changed. I was starting to feel like I was living in an episode of “Hoarders,” but instead of antiques and junk, it was all just bottles of soda and other, uh, liquids.
As our living arrangement dragged on, I made my peace with it. It became a bizarre part of my life—I’d occasionally try to avert my eyes as I walked past his room, but part of me also marveled at how someone could function like this. I’ll admit, I didn’t have a solution. I didn’t want to live with someone who was actively choosing this lifestyle, but I also didn’t want to be the catalyst for a confrontation that could end with someone feeling hurt.
Eventually, I moved out, and I still think about Pete from time to time. I hope he’s found a better way to manage his soda intake. Maybe he got some help for his unusual habit. But hey, who knows? Maybe he’s out there living his best life, surrounded by a fortress of Pepsi Max bottles, claiming it’s an art installation. Either way, I’ll always remember my time with him as one of the strangest chapters of my life.
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As a mom of three busy boys, I know how chaotic life can get — but I’ve learned that it’s possible to create a beautiful, cozy home even with kids running around. That’s why I started Cultivated Comfort — to share practical tips, simple systems, and a little encouragement for parents like me who want to make their home feel warm, inviting, and effortlessly stylish. Whether it’s managing toy chaos, streamlining everyday routines, or finding little moments of calm, I’m here to help you simplify your space and create a sense of comfort.
But home is just part of the story. I’m also passionate about seeing the world and creating beautiful meals to share with the people I love. Through Cultivated Comfort, I share my journey of balancing motherhood with building a home that feels rich and peaceful — and finding joy in exploring new places and flavors along the way.
