My red, rolling office chair is the most comfortable piece of workplace furniture ever. Unless maybe you count a bed in a sleep study lab.
Over the past month, I have gradually grown disillusioned with Rolly. Had I inflated his comfort in my mind? Or was he aging, wearing out, becoming more decrepit with each passing day? He was hardly sittable any more. I groaned with great effort upon arising from his cushy confines. It shouldn't have to be this way.
Friday night, I consulted my thirteen-year-old son, The Pony, about my predicament.
"Is there a lever on Rolly? Do you think I can lift him up? He's just not comfortable any more. I feel like my knees are at my chin."
"I don't know. You never let me sit in him."
"Well...you have your own chair. Rolly is mine. Get down there and take a look."
"I can't tell. Something is there. But I don't know if you would call it a lever."
"Here. Help me turn him over. See that? That's a lever. Flip him back."
I pushed the lever forward. Rolly's seat shot up like a visual aid in an Enzyte commercial. The Pony and I looked at each other. "Whoo! That's what the lever does! Sit down so I can move it lower." We pushed Rolly to my limits. Or so I thought.
The next morning, my back hurt. Rolly's new altitude was my first thought. The Pony had gone to spend the day with his grandma, so I needed to perform the manipulations alone. Perhaps just a tad lower. I stood beside Rolly with my hand on his seat, the other hand fiddling with his undercarriage. I didn't want to sit down and have the chair clunk to the bottom when I adjusted the lever, like my chair at work. The lever wouldn't move.
Against my better judgment, I sat on Rolly. I groped for the lever. It was jammed. I tried to force it. "EEEEEEE!" That rascally Rolly nearly launched me into the stratosphere! Homer Hickam and the rocket boys could have taken a lesson from Rolly. Fortunately, I was in the middle of my office, not pulled up to the desk. I dangled my feet and tried to catch my breath. It was like the time the Ferris wheel stopped for repairs with me and my cousin in the top car. How silly of me to fear a Rolly collapse upon pressing the lever. I had expected some kind of express elevator to hell, like Private Hudson in Aliens. But Rolly didn't let me down. He was more explosive than an auto airbag. More explosive than freshman boys fifth hour after a double tray of chili dogs. More explosive than nitroglycerin in a 1960s movie.
Since I had already reached the pinnacle, I set about coaxing Rolly to a lower elevation. Who knew that Rolly was built to support a school of sumos? I had to jounce up and down while compressing that lever. Rolly eventually sank to a suitable depth.
I'm thinking about partnering with Rolly for a workout video.