Elegy to Chair

I write this elegy to “Chair,” because I know so many “Friends” (2-3) out there, really care. Trust me.
Just for background information, my chair’s proper name is “Chair,” (not to be confused with Cher.) It’s not “a chair” or “the chair,” and it’s not nutty to give names to certain objects, everyone does it. We name all kinds of things like boats, bikes, cars and robots, because they are functional; they do stuff for us and in that way have an identity of their own.
We, you and I, and Chair, have endured a lot together, two terms of Obama, two elections, primaries, scandals, phony scandals, investigations and then there was the Clinton “matter.” We had FB, Google and the NSA monitoring and filtering our words and our news, while providing us with their subliminal advertising. While all these things seem more internet related, I submit, if I didn’t have Chair, and you didn’t have your own chair, no matter its name, the internet would be useless to us.
Think about it, chairs are important. In fact, I would bet that if we would give every member of al Qaeda a chair to sit on, instead of the floor, there might even be peace in the Middle East.
Chair has been with me through it all, rolling around on all five wheels, back and forth from dust covered printer to cat hair covered keyboard. As you know, Chair has suffered some injuries, you’ve seen pictures. I started with using clear packaging tape on his wounds, then duct tape, then some racing-striped tape, just for looks. Chair came through like a champ. And then there was that “five-bean salad” incident. We both suffered through that one.
Eventually came duct tape failure and when my forearms started sticking to the arm rests, I knew, Chair’s time had come.
So long, old friend, this may be the end, but you’re not through, I have a new job for you.
I am promoting Chair to “G-Chair,” which means, “garage chair,” because I always need a chair in the garage, where I can sit and work on fishing tackle etc. Like a passenger on Southwest Airline, chair now moves about the garage freely.
Now, we begin a new era. It’s time to unveil the new chair, picture included. Please note the tropical teal color and beach sand-white arm rests. You can even see through the see-through back rest, which is why they call it “see through.” It is specifically designed for typists in the tropics who type at the break-neck speed of 12 words per minute.
Like a little old lady protecting her couch, I kept the plastic covering on my new chair for weeks, but now it’s time to unveil and admire.
I am so excited that I not only put on a baseball cap backwards, I also cleaned-up my office, as you can plainly see from the photo. If you cannot see this, you didn’t see it before.
During clean-up, I found all kinds of forgotten stuff. I found an old pair of boat shoes back under the desk, under the dust. A lizard was no longer living inside, but he was still there. I found three pairs of reading glasses, one behind the monitor, one in a drawer and one stuck in a coffee cup that I had been looking for, for the last six months. I cleaned out some files as well, finding old articles I had written. One I had written for a friend’s on-line magazine was about Kansas City style BBQ.
There was also an old sit-com I had been working on, and a script from an episode of Frazer I had written for my “Sit-com Writing Class” at USF.
Then I came across an original script from an episode of the sit-com, “The Office,” which had been signed by the cast members, including Steve Carell. I got this through my “Half-Hours” instructor at USF. She was a staff writer on “The Fresh Prince of Bellaire,” and the “Rosanne Bar” show. If you’re unfortunate enough to watch either of these shows, look for her name in the credits, Lisa Rosenthal. I’m such a name dropper, but she’s a liberal and we’re not really friends.
Covered in dust behind the computer, I found three dust clothes, imagine the irony. Also, under layers of dust, I found my only heirloom from a distant relative, a sea-going uncle from days of yore. It is a small monkey, from Madagascar, I think, intricately carved from a walnut shell, by a native with a bone in his nose, or so the family story goes.
Then I found an old brass field telescope, carried by one of the Harrison’s (William Henry Harrisons, POTUS) at the battle of Tippecanoe in 1811. Think about that for a moment, an historical American artifact, lying around on my desk, covered in dust. Of course, I can’t prove it now, but that’s what my Grandmother, a descendant of Harrison, told me.
And, I discovered an “HP Officejet 6700” printer under another pile of dust. I swiveled my new chair to my keyboard and pushed the print button on a document. Sure enough, with a belch of dust and a hardy “Hi-ho Silver,” some printing came out.
Have you noticed the common denominator here? DUST.
Before “they” come up with another electronic gadget, the geeks in Silly-cone Valley need to invent office furniture that is electromagnetically charged to repel dust, especially from printers and cat hair on keyboards. (That sounds kind of like the old song, “Cat hair on keyboards and rain drops on roses.”)
You know what I’m talking about. Look at your printer right now. It’s covered in dust, isn’t it?
I know, all this is hard to believe, but I am not making it up, except the part about the five bean salad, it was really three bean, but just as toxic.






New Chair


1 Comment

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One response to “Elegy to Chair

  1. Nancy Mortensen

    Love the story, well written and great insite into the life of your chair!! I have no idea why you were ban from FB, so rediculious! What has our world come to. Keep on writing, posting and showing everyone you great talent of writing and story telling. You are good!!’


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