A Chairy Prospect

There is a special bond that forms between a man and his chair. If that chair reclines with a foot rest, the bond grows even stronger. If that chair also has a mechanical Shiatsu massage function, he may forget about his wife and children for extended periods of time. Many men throw their existential soul into their chairs and I have even seen the occasional man who wanted to be buried in his Lay-Z-Boy. After all, if he’s going to be in the cold ground forever, he may as well be comfortable. The annoying fact that he’s dead means nothing to the prospect of having that reclining comfort for all time.

Deep Seated History

This is not a new thing. All of the various Egyptian tombs unearthed in the Valley of the Kings had several chairs. Almost always one, was inscribed with,

This roughly translates to, “This is a King’s favorite chair. Don’t mess with it.” The tombs in the Valley of the Queens, don’t have such chairs. They have more tables and mats for sitting on floors and such.

Girls will never understand that the chair a man has, is the is the chair he wants. That one is his Throne. The place he can sit and actually believe his opinions matter. A place he can feel in command of the house for the whole time his wife lets him sit before bringing out the job list. It doesn’t matter if the fabric is worn, or a spring slips sometimes, this piece of furniture is his. Actually, it’s better if the chair is defective, or uncomfortable in some way. It keeps the rest of the family from sitting there. This is a place for his backside and no one else’s.

Sofa So Good

Women will try to buy a man a new chair. Ladies save your money. A real man never wants a new chair. New chairs, only mean that the color will change to match the drapes. New chairs are an invitation for sons to sit in the chair, and in a fit of testosterone there may be a battle for supremacy. Older sons often try, and claim chairs for themselves. I’ve seen it happen and it’s not pretty. New chairs get moved because they look better in the opposite corner of the living room. Guys hate it when their chair gets moved. It’s been in the same location for fifteen years, and he likes it there. Lastly, guys like the smell of their chair. Just like a pack of wolves this is his territory, and others know to stay away because of the scent.

As a guy myself, I have such a chair. Even the cat understands it belongs to me, and will move when I approach. Frankly, getting my cat to move without bleeding, is quite a feat, so when she does it willingly, I can really feel like the master of something. My chair is upholstered in a horrible green color with an occasional neon orange or pink thread running through its fabric that no one has used in years. I am told the last several bolts, were burned because come religious sect believed it was so ugly it must be connected to witchcraft. The seat of my chair has a rounded dent which precisely fits my bottom. On the right side it has a lever that when pulled around a hundred degrees brings up a place to rest my weary feet. It is a throne fitting for a great and powerful man such as Mr. Ohh!.

Unable to recline

Just when your life is going perfectly smooth is the time when tragedy rears its ugly head and strikes like a waiting cobra. For me. this mythical beast ran headlong into my beautiful chair. I sat down one day, reached for the handle to raise the footrest and it snapped in half. I was stunned. My feet were only half elevated, and the handle was in my hand. I couldn’t move, paralyzed with disbelief that my chair, the only piece of furniture that has ever understood me, was broken. It had failed me in my hour of need. There was no way my poor male brain could understand how this could happen. My brain was in such disbelief that it was starting to renounce all that was good and holy, because what god could allow a man’s chair to break for Pete’s sake.

Just as I was denying life and beauty my wife walked into the room, looked at my situation, and blurted out the worst thing possible, “Well, I guess It’s time to get rid of that crappy old thing, and buy a new one.” I came out of my stupor and declared, “We will not buy a new one. I will fix this.”

I’m not Throne anything away

I jumped up and ran to the garage and my tools. As a man, I do find some solace in having tools around. I brought what I needed into the living room, scrubbed up as if I was doing surgery, and looked at what remained of the handle. It was fitted on the chair with a set screw. The screw required an Allen key to loosen. Now, I have four million Allen keys but as per usual I didn’t have the right one to fit this screw.

I had to take the two closest keys to the home store, show them to the salesman’ and tell him what I needed was in between the two. After he got up from his laughing fit, he got me the right wrench and I was off. I removed the handle and glued it back together.

Take a number and sit down

As you may have guessed I didn’t work. The splice didn’t hold no matter what I did. My daughter suggested I call customer service for the manufacturer. What a great idea I thought. Nope!! I waited on hold for an hour and nobody came on the line. I actually drove another hour to a manufacturer’s store to ask them, and they couldn’t help. I was informed that customer service often takes two hours or more to answer. That doesn’t sound like service to me. Either way I was desperate so I called again and waited no less than three and a half hours for someone to answer. When they did, they asked for my AXC number. I found a tag stapled to the inner chair. I carefully tore it off and found that the staple went through the AXC number. I tried to explain this to them, but they told me they could do nothing without the number. I frustratingly spoke to two supervisors, who also wouldn’t budge. All I wanted was a handle I said, but they wouldn’t even talk to me without an AXC number.   

I started screaming and ranting in defeat, when my son walked over to me and informed me, the handle would arrive in two days. I was taken aback. How was this possible? He just looked up, and told me he ordered it on Amazon, and walked away. It came, and was the right one. And now the chair is working great again.

I did what every proud father must do. I bought my son a chair.

He earned it.