Some Chair

There are lots of things that get rotated at approximately thirty year intervals.  Mortgages.  Spouses.  The oil in my car.  The magazines at the doctor’s office.  And, as I recently discovered, the furnishings in most public sector offices.  Unlike the other items, the last occurs not because it is, strictly speaking, necessary.  Most furniture I’ve encountered from the late seventies and early eighties could quite accurately be characterized as robust if not out and out bomb proof.  However, being of the late seventies and early eighties, the furniture in question also tends to be “showing its age” to put it politely – or “an affront to God and man from the moment of its construction” to put it honestly.  I know this because, rather than direct it to the incinerator where it belongs, a misguided sense of frugality has led the State of Wisconsin to try and sell a few pieces.  So having said that, can I interest anyone in “One Odd Chair?”

Ah, the seventies – when the only difference between the living room and a construction zone was the presence or absence of protective headgear.

While I admire the candor of whoever listed the chair for what it was, namely singular and strange, I have to admit that when they said “one odd chair,” I was expecting a vision of madness I could set my posterior upon.  I was expecting a chair of a variety that, when viewed by Jules Winnfield of Pulp Fiction, would lead to a declaration to the effect of “That is one seriously odd mother!@#$in’ chair.”

Ain’t nothin’ good ever happened in that chair.

This would probably be followed by a gun fight.  It’s always followed by a gun fight.

In this case, however, I’m not sure that is particularly likely, as the chair is not particularly odd.  Sure, it looks like it was constructed out of 2x4s and upholstered in the same material used to make traffic cones, but aside from that, there does not seem to be anything particularly bizarre about it.

I promise you this: Someone, at some point, got really, really high in this chair.

I have some questions about the carpet, which looks vaguely like a glitch in the matrix, but I guess that isn’t for sale.  And so we return to the chair itself, currently the charge of “Randy,” who I’m led to believe can be contacted to schedule a viewing of the One Odd Chair.  Part of me wonders if Randy happens to be a loquacious spider, as this whole listing has a very Charlotte’s Web vibe to it.

Somehow less endearing than Wilbur.

Then again, I take back what I said earlier.  There is something bizarre about it.  Two things, actually.  The first is that, as I attempt to write this, I cannot stop humming “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees. The second is that the minimum bid is $5.  Perhaps the good people at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire have seen one too many episodes of Antiques Roadshow and are laboring under the impression some collector will identify the +1 Chair of Oddness as an artifact from the Ming Dynasty.  Yes, there is an off chance that the only way to get that exact shade of orange is through a dye made possible only through Aztec sacrifice, but chances are better that the chair is the furnishing equivalent of a Haitian penny stock.

In short, I might lower my minimum demanded bid.  In fact, I might even open it up to barter.  And regardless of what is offered – chicken, goat, sedan chair and low mileage eunuchs – I’d probably take it.

What can you expect?  It’s an odd mother!@#$in’ chair.

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