I Might Be Dying and It’s This Chair’s Fault
not literally dying, but an equivalent level of pain, emotionally speaking
I got the smart idea to buy a new office chair, because my old chair was roughly 800 years old and made my butt feel like a bowling ball bouncing across a brick floor. When one has an uncomfortable chair, one tends to do most of one’s writing in other places, like the bed, the floor, the oven, and the astral plane.
Eventually I accepted that, for the sake of my butt and my writing, I should probably buy a new chair.
That was my first mistake.
My second mistake was researching chairs. If it were 10 years ago, I would have marched into an office supply store, grabbed the first box I saw, purchased it, said something embarrassing to the sales clerk, brought it home, assembled it, and been perfectly happy. (Actually, I probably would have gone to the thrift store and bought whatever didn’t smell like farts and finger-paint, but the previous sentence makes me sound fancier.) At no point in the chair-buying process would “research” have been involved.
Now literally every purchase involves research. I hate it. I’m so tired. But, if you don’t research your chairs, you’ll end up with the two star chair that’s secretly doll-sized, made of cheese, and…
