Weird fact: for a significant part of my childhood, I slept on a waterbed. It was one of three waterbeds in our household. This outpaced the number of waterbeds owned by every other family I knew of by a factor of three*. I’m not sure what cultural or personal comfort preference prompted my parents to go on a waterbed spending spree, but for a sizeable chunk of my adolescence, every bedroom in the Evans household shared at least one thing in common with many 1970’s adult films.
Despite the paucity of waterbeds among people I knew, we couldn’t have been the only folks at the time who were “sailing the seven seas” during their slumber based on the number of retail outlets available to the average consumer. I can recall a period of time when there were multiple places you could patronize in the local area that were dedicated solely to the sale of waterbeds. But much like stores that only sold wallpaper, I haven’t seen the equivalent of “Wavy Willy’s Dallastown Waterbed Outlet” for decades. A niche sleep-related marketplace that has seemingly vanished from the larger retail landscape.
A quick google search for “waterbeds near me” did turn up a singular result within a 50-mile radius, one Dan’s Waterbeds in Dauphin County. In the Google Street View photo, Dan’s Waterbeds appeared to be a two-story shed with stained aluminum siding whose only marking as a place of commerce was a haphazardly affixed sign featuring a cartoon cow. How a cow properly imparts to potential customers the comfort and luxury of waterbed sleeping I’m not entirely sure.
The decaying front steps of Dan’s brings you to a door composed of one half beaten up screen and one half unfinished plywood. Not being in the target demo for CNS stimulants, I’m not sure if this is the type of place I would expect to purchase meth, but I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if someone offered it to me while I was there. As a commentary on the current state of the waterbed in our culture at large in the year 2026, Dan’s Waterbeds is exactly the kind of place I would have expected to visit to purchase one.
As for my sleeping experience growing up, for the most part I enjoyed my waterbed. It was warm in the winter time (thank you under-pad heater) and cool in the summertime. It did sort of suck you in a little bit, so you didn’t roll around a lot in the night. There were the leaks of course, but they didn’t manifest themselves visually like in a movie or a tv show where a fissure of water shoots straight up in the air in a comical fountain. No, most leaks were slow and occurred on the side or bottom of the bed and were difficult to locate and repair. Often, you only discovered them if your foot dug into a corner and found a wet spot, or a damp tucked-in sheet unfurled itself.
You were supposed to empty the bed entirely of water to dry-patch it, but that was a bit of a pain in the ass. In the instances when we had leaks, I think Dad usually did his best and tried to do a “wet” seal, but those fixes never seemed to last that long.
Eventually, just like the mural-sized Columbia Space Shuttle wallpaper in my bedroom, the Evans family waterbeds fell out of fashion. One by one, they all found their way to the curb. I don’t know what tipped the scales against them. Maybe it was the slightly damp smell your room acquired after one too many leaks. Maybe it was the frigid winter nights sleeping on a cold layer of plastic when your under-pad heater failed. Or maybe, we all woke up one day from our wavy slumber and realized the 70’s had ended more than a decade ago.
I don’t really get nostalgic for the time I slept on a waterbed. But today it just occurred to me that I had one as a child, and I did sleep on it for a really long time. Which, in retrospect, is kind of weird.
* I am aware that’s not how math works.
