Today was one of those days. Have you ever had a day wherein you look around yourself and you see nothing but disaster all over the place, because you’ve done nothing consequential whatsoever, you know, no work, not even anything fun or interesting? Today was not one of those days for me. Today was a day not unlike one Edward Scissorhands might have, as an Avon lady comes into your haunted mansion to lead you into a new life, one of makeup and desperate housewives who want to have sex with you. Today I got my new chair.
I awoke this morning bright and early, which for me means eleven-thirty in the morning. I was “bright”, so to speak, because I knew that today was Chair Day. Next weekend will be Look At Pickup Trucks Day and Go To Madrid, “The Land of the Hippies” Day, but today was especially important to me. Like Christmas, only with lumbar support.
We went to American Furniture first. You know, just to get a feel, to “test the waters”, as well as because they have the cheapest reclining chairs, and my mom didn’t want to spend that much on a chair. As we entered through the door, I was awakened to an overpowering stench. A stench of leather and fresh polyester, but another smell as well. A smell of evil.
“Good morning, what can I do for you?” inquired the happy salesman.
“Ah, we want to look at chairs”, responded my mother.
“Oh, then you’re going the wrong way. They’re over there, on the other side of the store”, he said. I had already known, and I told her, but she wouldn’t listen. My mother never listens to me when I’m using my geek sense. You know what geek sense is. It’s that sense some people have that lets them memorize every inconsequential detail known to man, except their girlfriend’s birthday. I have that sense. I was made aware of that by a friend of mine named Frank, at a party where he introduced me to the webcomic Megatokyo. But that’s another story.
But as we neared the chairs, trying to ignore the salesperson who was stalking behind us, darting behind the bookshelves and living room sets, I knew something was wrong. I felt around, sitting down in chair after chair, and they all had a horrid, carpetlike covering resembling chair fabric. They also cost upwards of $400.00.
“I don’t like the texture”, I said.
“Oh, that’s a rough sort of fabric. You want a smoothness, you go with the polyester”, said the salesman, or something to that effect, from behind an armoire.
It was time to try another store. “We’ll be back”, my mother said.
“Oh, then take my card”, the salesman replied, which I took, and which I handed to my mom, and which she probably put in the vast, teeming blob which is her purse, never to be seen again. And so we left the evil of American furniture.
But this story has a very happy ending, because the next place we were going to was La-Z-Boy. I acted all nonchalant, you know, the way you do before you go to La-Z-Boy, because deep down inside you’re shouting YAAAAAAY! over and over again and you’re really happy and you know that now this is getting good but you don’t want to startle your mother. La-Z-Boy, in case you’re a no-good Communist Libertarian, is the Heaven of reclining chairs. It is the place the good chairs go, the ones with nice tasteful wood legs and reclining backs that you can take off so you can fit the chair through the door. It’s like the Toyota of furniture stores.
Here, we were led to the back of the store, where we were shown a handful of chairs, but I knew what I wanted. I am a connoisseur of chairs. I would not be led around by these soft-butted plebians.
“What’s your cheapest chair?” I asked.
“Oh, that would be a small chair”, the salesperson said. Isn’t that like La-Z-Boy. They’re just awesome like that, instead of selling a cheaper large chair with cheaper materials, they just shrink a good chair, just my size. But of course, there were many like that, and so I was forced to give my old Chair-Critic a good sitting. The first was backed by a strange material, apparently from the planet Venus. The next was of an even stranger material.
“Oh, yeah, that one’s got nubbies on it”, the salesman said, or something like that, I can’t really remember.
Anyway, the last one got my vote:
It’s a little green one. A little firm, maybe, but it was small enough for me, and it was my favorite color. My mother seemed pleased. I know I was.
Of course, when we got it home, there were the usual jokes, like “Why is it green?” and “Oh, I want one in my favorite color! Ha ha!” But I will not back down, nor will I become the butt of their jokes. I got my chair, and it’s a present for my high-school graduation, and so I thank my grandmother and mother, and would never be mean or nasty to them, because they got me my chair.
Unless they try to sit in it. Then it’s personal.