Chairs

My first chair was a yellow rocker with a lamb painted on it. I must have been two or three. In restaurants, waitresses sat me in booster seats, which made it easier for the food I threw up to land clear across the table. Child safety seats weren't mandatory yet and neither were seat belts (though both existed at the time). So I sat unencumbered in the backseat with my sister, laughing at death every time our father pulled away from the curb.

Student desks in our grade school were big metal affairs with wooden tops that we lifted to store our books, notebooks, and used gum. The wooden tops had two recessed areas for pencils and a hole between them for the inkwell. Inkwells had gone out of fashion by around 1682, so none of us had any idea why our desktops had a hole in them. The desks stood just tall enough on their legs for us to be able to crawl underneath during emergency drills. These emergency drills were known as "duck and cover" exercises and were our best defense against an atomic bomb blast. We were just young enough to believe that this procedure -- and the solid reinforcement of our desks -- would protect us from a 300,000 degree fireball. (We also believed Underdog could fly.)

I mention the desks because we sat behind them in simple wooden chairs that were actually very sophisticated to a six-year-old -- no lambs, no boosting. We sat in the same kinds of chairs used by ten-year-olds, so we felt just a step away from adulthood. My first accident that I can remember happened in one of those chairs. I was an incorrigible kid. I was sent to the principal's office so many times that I ended up moving my desk there; when he'd had enough of me, he would send me to the classroom as punishment. One day in class, I was showing off for the other kids, holding onto the edge of my desk and leaning back on my chair's two back legs. I'd done this before and been reprimanded for it. So when the chair legs finally slid out from under me and the back of my head hit the floor, making a sound not unlike Roger Maris hitting one out of the park, our teacher, E. Braun, instructed the other students to ignore me and concentrate on Chapter 2 of Dick and Jane Survive an Atomic Blast. I ended up with a mild concussion, though unfortunately I was sent back to school two days later, where I was bound and gagged and left out in the hallway to rot.

I've sat in many chairs over the last 62 years, two centuries, and two millennia (concurrently of course, or else I'd be way dead). I can safely say that every friend I've had has sat in at least 10 or 12 of them. Let's take a moment to marvel at this timeless and ubiquitous necessity of everyday life.




OK, let's continue.

Chairs are everywhere, and they span the entire social spectrum. It's the only piece of furniture used by both kings and death row inmates. Curiously, a king's throne is also an informal name for a toilet. What do you suppose a king calls his toilet? Does he say to his court eunuch, "Watch my throne -- I'm going to use the throne"? This must perplex the eunuch no end. No, he likely assigns them ranks, in which case the royal throne would be "Throne #1" and the potty "Throne #2." If he wants to be specific, he might tell his eunuch, "Keep an eye on #1. I'm off to #2 to do #1 and maybe #2." The poor confused eunuch is likely looking for other employment opportunities by now.

Movie theater seats have certainly improved over time. It used to be that theater seats were simply functional: a seat for your seat, a back for your back. All seats were at the same level, so that if you sat behind Shaquille O'Neal or a woman wearing an Easter bonnet from 1890, you might as well just count your Goobers for two hours. (Actually, two hours' worth of Goobers is a pretty good deal.)

Nowadays, I think people go to the movies just to sit in the seats. They're tiered, so you never have to crane your neck to see over or around the person in front of you. They're ergonomically molded with lumbar support and restful cushioning, they rock so you can relax and even lull yourself to sleep if you're ever watching a revival of The English Patient. They come with movable armrests that you can lift for making out loveseat-style, particularly handy if you know the person sitting beside you. They have cup holders built into the armrests, though they're not large enough to hold the uber-mega-ultra-hyper cherry Slurpee you've bought at the concession stand for roughly the price of a 2015 Lamborghini Huracan. Warning: Be careful your date doesn't yank the armrest up while your refreshing beverage is in the cup holder, or the person behind you is apt to dry himself off using your face for a squeegee.

Speaking of movies, one of the all-time great visual effects is that wobbly chair John Cazale sits on in The Godfather Part 2. Fredo is telling Michael (Al Pacino) that he isn't dumb like the rest of the Corleone family thinks he is, that he's smart and deserves respect. But meanwhile the chair is saying, "He's a wimp, don't listen to him." It's such a perfect extension of his character. There should be an Golden Globe category for Best Chair in a Motion Picture (Drama). That's one acceptance speech I'd like to hear.

These days, furniture has taken its rightful place as an essential element in the business world. Only in a company meeting could you hear someone say, "The chair will table that for now." You wouldn't have heard that 50 years ago, before the non-human rights movement demanded that all furniture be treated equal. People began to realize that tables and chairs were more than just four pretty legs and some drawers.

Finally, I'd have to say that my favorite chair these days is the wingback. It's ideal for reading, which consumes roughly 23 hours of my day. Its arms feel as if they're embracing you, and you can rest your head against the high back for extra comfort. Give me a cushy wingback chair and an ottoman and you can keep your world peace. I could also make a compelling argument for chaise longues, but let's table that chair for another time.