Slackjaw
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Slackjaw

To whoever fucked with my office chair settings…

Have I done something to upset you? Is there an odor I am emitting of which I am not aware? Do I offend you in some way? Is it my pungent tuna lunches? Or perhaps my crime of taking the last donut in the office kitchen?

I ask because these are the only explanations I can come up with for why you, dear colleague, felt compelled to fuck with my office chair settings.

I had it jusssst right. The seat was not too high, not too low. I’d adjusted the back support bar to provide just the right amount of lumbar support. The arm rests were set at an optimal height to support my arms but also not get in the way of my productivity and humble creative genius.

Everything was perfect. And then you entered the picture.

The details are murky, but here’s what we know: At some point, while I was away from my desk, you approached my chair and fucked with it.

I know this because when I went to sit back down at my desk today, something was not right: The seat was so low, I sank into the chair because the tension on the back support bar had been loosened, and the arm rests were an asymmetrical mess (the left one was higher than the right one.) Even one of the chair wheels was broken, a metaphor for my broken spirit.

NOT my actual chair, just a representation of what I’m feeling emotionally. (Photo: Jeff Djevdet)

So many questions, so few answers

Because I am not sure I will ever have a child of my own, I had channeled all my paternal instincts into this chair. I’d treated it with the care and emotional investment of a father. If an office chair could participate in little league sports, indeed, you would’ve seen me cheering it on from the bleachers at EVERY game. You would’ve seen me consoling the discouraged chair after a loss, telling it that challenges are just a part of life, and that it is our perseverance that will triumph in the end. We would probably go get ice cream after that heartfelt exchange.

I have so many questions, and so few answers, as to why you would do this.

As of now, I am trying to readjust the chair to get it back to its original settings, but it’s just not the same.

At a time like this, I am reminded of the poet Yeats:

I had a beautiful friend
And dreamed that the old despair
Would end in love in the end

At this moment, I dream that the despair I’ve felt will end in love in the end. I’m working to get my chair to its former glory. I only ask that, when I do, you kindly leave us be.

Thank you. I forgive you.

Update 7/14/16 at 11:09am:

It has come to my attention that there has been a simple mixup. Apparently, a crowded conference room had a shortage of chairs, which required borrowing my chair so everyone could have a seat. Afterwards, someone returned to me what they thought was my chair, but it was, in fact, an entirely different one. (All the chairs in our office look the same, so that is an understandable oversight.)

I have since reclaimed my original chair, and all is well.

To whoever I may have accused of fucking with my office chair settings, please accept my sincere apologies. I hope we are cool.

When I’m not protecting my precious office chair, I’m tweeting on Twitter. Follow along!

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