It’s fairly common knowledge, at least among my friends, that I have a thing about chairs. I suppose most of us do. Most of us would prefer a comfy chair over an uncomfortable one; a chair with a view over one that faces a blank wall.
Pretty pedestrian stuff. I’ve already covered the mysteries of Peer Chair Pressure a time or two. You know the drill. The more people that show up to the party and the fewer chairs, the more likely a person will be to choose a chair and sit in it all night long, not surrendering it for a moment, even if their peanut-sized bladder is bursting at the seams.
I have readily admitted to being one of those people. I will choose a chair and glom onto it, considering it my sole real estate for the duration of an event. The only time I may abandon it is if I can surrender it to a significant other who will give it back to me when I am through refreshing my drink or emptying my baseball-sized bladder.
I have other chair issues, though. I came to notice one last week when I was at the dentist. Before I cover that ground, let me take a little round about journey that will eventually bring me to that seat in the waiting room of Dr. Storer’s office.
Until I was 24, I never really had any seating preferences, at least that I know of. Growing up, I would sit damned near anyplace, my youthful body being as comfortable on the carpeted floor as it was on a stool, the hearth or the sofa. I had a single chair in my office, turned away from the room and turned instead toward my desk, where wonderful creations awaited their eventual birth.
Then something happened. I even know the day it happened, the where, the when and the how. I was in the party room at the Tropics Inn on Aurora Avenue. The Seafair Pirates had just completed another day of parading and womanizing and it was now time to enjoy the spoils of our daily hunt by entertaining the females of the species, plying them with alcohol, music and pirates.
I had recently split from my wife so I was in no hurry to go anywhere. I was in full party mode. As I said, I didn’t have any preferences about seating then, so I dropped my fanny next to a woman I had begun seeing and started to put the moves on her. We were having a grand old time, until out of the corner of my eye, I saw her suddenly fall backward. Before I could fully comprehend what had happened, I felt a strong pull on my hair and I too fell backward.
Unknown to me, my ex had decided to throw some cold water on my little pirate party by dumping us both on the ground. Not satisfied with that little move, she then decided to kick me some while my brother gave me a nice black eye, sucker punching me when he had the chance.
You can probably see where I am going with this now. If I had sat with my back to the rest of the room and my face to the door, I would have seen her coming. I wouldn’t have been blindsided by her little antics; instead, I would have been able to ride her roughshod from the room and have our little melee outside, not inside the party room.
Since then, as you can imagine, I have a seating preference. It doesn’t matter where I am. If I have any choice at all, I will sit wherever I can see the majority of the room. I don’t want a lot of people behind me nor another entrance. If possible, I want to see the one and only door.
I don’t think anyone can blame me for this. Most of the people I know accommodate my little issue with seating and let me choose first. There has been a few occasions when someone else I am with also wants that prime seating space. If I’m not sleeping with them, I will make my preference readily known or simply remove the choice by being the first one to select a place to sit. I won’t be blindsided ever again.
Except, it seems, at the dentist’s office. When I arrived at the office, I was alone. There was no one else in the waiting room. I checked in with the receptionist and then pondered my prime positioning. I could have chosen the chair in the corner. It faced the door and every other chair and entrance was in view.
I didn’t. For some reason, I chose the chair right next to the door, one that placed said door to my back. A very odd choice, I thought to myself. Very “un-me.” It took me a moment or two to figure out the reasoning.
Then it dawned on me. While I did end up with my back to the door, it was unlikely anyone I knew would suddenly show up at the dentist’s office to create a scene. I am, at least at the time of this writing, in a period of life with a very low possibility of scene making.
My choice was far more pragmatic, but perhaps just as odd. I wanted to face the door that led into the inner sanctum of the office. I know not why, except to balance the “fight or flight” urge. If I were to suddenly woose out, I could be out the front door in a flash.
I didn’t woose out. Instead, I took my medicine like a man and jumped from my chair, following the hygienist to my cleaning appointment in another chair. I’m pretty proud of myself, too. I barely flinched when the front door opened unexpectedly while I was waiting. But I am really sorry I tripped that little pony-tailed girl who I mistook for a threat. Good thing she had a dentist appointment at the time. She looked pretty funny without her front teeth.
In the Emerald City, sitting comfortably in my home office, my back to the wall,
– Robb