04.15.09
The Flaws of a Fatboy and Its Fixes
Well over a year ago, we purchased a dog bed from Fatboy. We scoured the internets for a bed that was made from nylon/ripstop or some other similar material. Despite the fact that most cloth dog bed covers can be removed for cleaning, they still capture smells, hair and dirt that can be unbecoming. Fatboy seemed like the perfect solution with its tough removable exterior (the Styrofoam beads are contained in a separate liner), cool colors and a general pleasing aesthetic. It has been a great product, though, admittedly it’s a bit small for Shaun’s (the dog™) liking, so we’re more apt to see the cats lounging on it. C’est la vie. At least it’s seeing use.
When we first moved into this apartment, we had an Ikea couch in the office. It was great solely for the pets and overnight visitors. But as we had issues with previous dog beds and their cloth covers, so, too, were there issues with the Ikea couch cushions. Dirt from Shaun’s paws, dander, hair, dust — all of it displayed on the very quickly deteriorating cushions. And let’s it face it, we’re not the beacon of cleanliness in this household. We sold the couch for $15 at a yard sale, but knew we needed to replace it with something for when the family came to visit. Air mattresses deflate overnight, and we didn’t want another large piece of furniture. Seeing as how Fatboys are so versatile and taking note of the dog bed’s stamina despite animal claws and general havoc, we opted for the human-sized 55“x70” Fatboy.
We loved it immediately, and I even suggested getting another one. We could drag it from room to room, my sister slept on it over the holidays, both Naz and I could sit on it upright in a love seat fashion, and even Shaun enjoyed its sprawl in comparison to his own tiny Fatboy. And it provided hours of entertainment for our daredevil cats. Before too long, they were using it as a launch pad for late night antics. But those antics more than likely led to a sequence of disparaging events.
I noticed a small tear near the top. As I investigated further, it was clear that this was not the same durable material as the dog bed. And by now some of the Styrofoam beads started spilling out. Wait, what the…? This thing isn’t lined either?
I removed the Fatboy from the living area and put it in our bedroom to avoid any further rigorous use. Realizing now that the beads weren’t contained in a separate liner as the dog bed had been constructed, I knew I would need to sew a lining with a zipper. Aside from transferring millions of static-electric beads from the inside of the Fatboy to a self-constructed liner, there was no big issue, right? I pried open the industrial-strength Velcro seal only to discover that the zipper was embedded underneath the folds of material. And worse, the zipper had no tab. Stellar craftsmanship. Clearly my opinion of this Fatboy was declining rapidly. What I didn’t know was that my opinion of Fatboy the brand/company was soon to follow.
Naz drafted a letter to Design Public regarding the issue of the tear and the zipper. We acknowledged that the tear probably was due to wear and tear, but with the defective zipper, there was no way to fix the hole from the inside. And god-forbid we use unsightly duct tape on the outside of this glorified bean bag chair. The product was less than 2 months old, so we held on to the hope that some kind of concession could be made, particularly since it seemed faulty from the outset.
I’ll refrain from commentary on the outcome of email correspondence with both Design Public and Fatboy as they can be found here. In a nutshell, the zipper was not flawed; it was child-proof. And the tear was due to regular wear and tear, which wasn’t covered under any kind of guarantee. So we were on our own. Either we discard the product entirely or try to mend it ourselves. Like I said in my blog, I’m not one to readily waste money, and I wasn’t going down without some concerted effort to fix it.
Step 1
Get into a zippered cover with an alleged child-proof zipper. Before going further, I must mention that nowhere on Fatboy’s site do they claim to use “child-proof” zippers. With a screwdriver, we were able to partially dislodge the zipper body so that it could at least be more exposed. Exposed for what, I wasn’t completely sure yet. Looking at the zipper, there was a hole where the tab would be if this was a “normal” zipper. We tried threading the hole with a safety pin and using that as a makeshift tab, but the zipper was still slightly embedded. The safety pin wasn’t strong enough to pull on; the zipper wasn’t budging. The next tool we had in our repertoire was a tiny watch screwdriver. Slender enough to fit in the hole, but strong enough to leverage the zipper from its jammed position. Voila! Step 1 complete.
Step 2
Remove static-y Styrofoam beads from the Fatboy cover into a shoddily-assembled liner made from an old sheet. Saying this was tricky is putting it mildly. First, we needed to start putting some of the beads into the liner just to get rid of a small portion of the sheer volume of these beads. Using a poster tube and a cup, the scooping and pouring began. Factor in static electricity, two curious cats and an equally curious dog, a mere 6” slit in the new liner and millions of beads, and you’ve got a project to occupy you for a good three hours. Thankfully it was rainy outside, so we had nothing to do anyway.
What began as a delicate process so not to spill too many precious beads quickly transformed into a laughable “Screw you, Fatboy” tirade.
Step 2.1
Continue to transfer Styrofoam beads. The next step was to empty out as many beads into the bathtub as possible. Why? We needed to contain them as best as we could because the liner needed to be placed inside the cover before it got too full and couldn’t fit through the cover’s opening. Guess what? The number of beads in a Fatboy turned our bathtub into a miniature ski slope, and we exercised a bit of restraint as to not jump in and play a la Chuck E. Cheese, or at least throw the cats in the mound of whiteness. At this point, we had beads in the bedroom where the game started, beads in the hallway as we dragged it into the bathroom and beads near the front door where the vacuuming operation began.
Step 2.2
Vacuum remaining beads inside the cover. The beads. They were everywhere. We were a couple hours into this process already, and our patience was wearing thin. No longer was I salvaging every tiny bead that ended up on the floor, on our shoes, on the cats or in our hair. But we still needed to get as many of those clingy little balls out of the cover as we could before putting the liner in. So out comes the Dirt Devil and quickly begins the cyclone of beads inside the canister. I think we emptied the canister and cleaned out the HEPA filter 3 or 4 times before we were satisfied that enough beads had been removed.
Step 3
Insert liner into cover and place duct tape on tear on the inside of cover. This part was the easiest. But once that was done, it was back to the poster tube, cup and scooping and pouring routine. Naz tended to the bulk of this operation sad to say because despite the enormity, it really was a one-person task. Aside from sewing the liner and playing Styrofoam-bead wrangler, I merely stood by, took photos and offered playful banter where applicable.
My offering to the Fatboy company is to make the human version just like the pet version. Disregarding the issue with the zipper, having it lined as the pet version would have prevented this entire mess. We still could have pried into the cover, sealed the tear with a small piece of duct tape on the inside and bada-bing, bada-boom, done. Or to go once step further, use the same thicker material as the pet version, and the tear probably wouldn’t have resulted in the first place.
Would I buy this product again? Not in the least. But at least it is operational again even if a bit saggy because of the Styrofoam-ball casualties in the end.
