I have a chair at my computer desk that is the best present Hick ever gifted me with. It totally rocks. According to Hick, it set him back three figures. He purchased it all by himself at Office Max, and kept it hidden in the barn until Christmas. I'm not sure exactly when he slipped it into my office. Santa stays up late and arises early around these parts.
My chair is dusty red and cushy, with arms at just the right height. It rolls admirably. I can raise it and lower it. I can tilt it back like a recliner without a footrest. Chairy is aging gracefully. In dog years, she would be forty-two. I shall rue the day that Chairy breaks a leg and must be destroyed.
At work, I have a rolly chair. Not a roly chair, not a rolling chair, not a roll-y chair. A rolly chair. I can call it that. It's my blog.
Rolly is adopted. He used to live in the business lab, on a carpeted floor. Rolly has five legs, a soft blue seat, a padded blue back, and a distaste for rolling. Go figure. His wheels do not like my industrial tile. He balks when I want to move. He locks his five wheels and scoots crossways over the floor like an uncouth dog dragging his itchy butt across the berber.
I shouldn't disparage Rolly, considering that before he joined my classroom furniture family, I rested my rump upon a hard blue plastic student chair. Without wheels. But at least I knew what to expect: a sore gluteus maximus at the end of my eight-plus-hour day. Which is not to say that I sat for eight hours solid. For the record.
The problem with Rolly is that just when I expect him to roll back, or toward my desk, he scrapes his wheels in protest. I might as well be sitting on a regular chair for all the rolling that I'm getting out of Rolly. Rubbing salt in my emotional wound is the total insouciance of Rolly's back. I adjust it to fit my spine, and Rolly lets it slide. A horse bloating its belly to play fast and loose with the cinch at a most inopportune moment has nothing on Rolly. No matter how tight I screw the seat-back knob to the right to be tighty, Rolly lets it slip. So I am continually going behind my own back to yank the support into place. For a moment. Until it slithers stealthily down to the seat proper again.
I have a good mind to load Rolly up in an oversized basket and leave him outside the business lab door, like that red-headed brat in Problem Child, the one who idolized The Bow Tie Killer.
Rolly and I are a match made in Not-Heaven. I have been spoiled at home by my sweet Chairy.
3 comments:
This is great. You put things so eloquently. It is too bad that Rolly is such a bad chair. he will probably not make it to chair heaven :)
Last place I worked status was type of chair and office space you looked like you owned (not how much good work you produced). I am now poor but sitting at home in PJs in my bed with my laptop which is much more comfy , more honest and a lot less stressful. Preventive healthcare is another pipedream for the masses as corporations won't even put forth good ergonomic environments - like a a decent chair - yet spout facts that we should all sit properly, get away from our chairs and computers every 20 minutes and eat healthy. Ha! Try taking a break every 20 minutes and see how long you last at your job! Eating healthy - I would but some one keeps stealing my lunch! Damn that Dr. Tostito Bandito!
Josh,
Yes, I fear that Rolly is headed for chair not-heaven.
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knancy,
Try eating a school lunch every day, and see how long you last at living. I can't believe the stuff they feed the kids.
We used to have real food when I was a student. These days, it's whatever frozen food that's the easiest to warm up. They even serve bags of Cheetos, and Little Debbie Fudge Rounds.
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