Ann Perkins goes full eggplant

The emoji, of course

There’s a moment in season 4, episode 5 of Parks when Ron — in the middle of April and Andy’s chaotic Halloween party — looks at Anne and goes: “You. Beanbag. Come with me.”

Ann’s actually dressed like an eggplant, not a beanbag, so she responds “I’m an eggplant.” And then:

Ron: “I don’t care. Come with me.”

Ann: “Why?”

Ron: “I need small hands.”

Ann: “I’m — scared?”

The whole exchange is 15 seconds tops, a blink-and-you-miss-it-moment, but I’ve been cracking up over it ever since I did my rewatch this week. It epitomizes Parks and Rec at this point in its run: its characters are comfortable, both with each other and with us; it’s an ever-so-slightly absurd piece of dialogue that’s quick and smart and concise; Ann doesn’t actually question Ron’s command but follows him anyway, as if she’s used to his antics by this point in their friendship. It’s a forgettable moment from a show in its heyday and it’s only forgettable because the rest of the episode is so strong — as all of them are right now.

Ron needs Ann as his assistant as he fixes all of the problems with April and Andy’s house — leaky faucet, the “shock wire”, a broken kitchen sink. He initially only recruits her for her small hands, but Ann takes an interest in their projects (“I’m a homeowner. May as well learn something”). The two of them spend the party running around the house with Ron’s toolbox. It’s cute and a bonding moment we haven’t seen yet between the two of them, which, obviously, I love.

But truly all I care about in this episode is Ron calling Ann “beanbag.” I’m chuckling to myself right now writing this, just thinking about it. I don’t know what it is. The word “beanbag” is funny in and of itself, but also the image of Ann intentionally dressing like a beanbag at that party is golden. There’s also part of me that’s shocked that Ron even knows what a beanbag is. There’s another part of me that honestly loves the fact that Ann — Ann, who was basic-ass Raggedy Ann in the last Halloween episode we saw — chose an eggplant. An eggplant! Of all things! As her costume. And a truly, incredibly DIY eggplant too. Like she definitely made this costume at home. It wasn’t something she stumbled into Spirit Halloween and grabbed off the shelf.

The fact that Ann is dressed as what I have to imagine is the eggplant emoji is soooo deeply 2011. I actually went back and fact-checked when the eggplant emoji became ubiquitously popular and suggestive. According to Wikipedia, Twitter users used it in that context as early as 2011, but it didn’t have a full chokehold on pop culture until 2012 - 2013 territory. Including a reference to the emoji in this episode — released in late October 2011 — would’ve been indicative of the writers being part of the counterculture, aggressively online and able to be suggestive in a way that only slivers of the mainstream audience would’ve understood.

Who do the writers give the eggplant costume to? Not Andy. Not Jean-Ralphio. Not Jerry – which, honestly, would’ve been on brand. They give it to vanilla, tame, straight man Ann. It’s almost a moment of the show when the writers themselves shine through a bit too much. I’m seriously supposed to believe that Ann Perkins chose an eggplant costume for herself? No, it’s the kind of joke that probably would’ve been left on the cutting room floor. Watching this moment is more like watching a rough draft version of Ann Perkins on screen, before Rashida Jones inhabited the Ann Perkins we know and love. It’s Doodlebob to Ann’s SpongeBob.

The eggplant costume immediately disappears after this minute. Ann is suddenly back to normal clothes in the next scene she’s in. It’s only relevant for those 15 seconds and exists solely so Ron can make the beanbag joke.

There are a million things I love about a rewatch — and a reread, quite frankly. I’m a huge reader — but this is one of the biggest: after you’ve gone over a show enough times, you stop paying attention to the storyline at all and instead catch these little oddball moments and details. It’s like witnessing the writers’ room come to life on screen. You can practically see them having fun in moments like this, doubled over in laughter to each other about this 15-second, stupid joke.