Saturday, March 17, 2012

It all Started with a Chair

Isn't that the first line to the movie Juno? The same thing applies here, minus the unplanned teen pregnancy. . .

The chair that launched a thousand insults.

I've been trying to straddle two very different worlds for so long, and the purchase of this chair knocked me over, causing me to fall into the chasm.

Enter the drama.

I had a bad week at work, one in which I was continually berated by staff members who wanted to haze the new, young, must-think-she's-all-that (I don't), petite female physician. So, when I spotted a beautiful Plycraft chair (modeled after the Eames Lounger) in an advertisement for only $85, I told myself that I needed the victory of that purchase to start the weekend right.

It took FIVE hours of preparation to make it to the resale furniture store selling the chair just before it opened. I was heavy with child and had my 2 year old with me. It snowed and I had to shovel the entire driveway by myself. Getting my boy in snow gear was akin to that scene in Christmas Story. We made it to the parking lot with exactly 12 minutes to spare. My boy asked to get out of the car because he wanted to look into the windows. Fine. We walked right up to the door and about five minutes later a line of ten people had formed behind us. Next, an employee of the store cracked open the door and said, "We realize we underpriced a very desirable item. We never do this, but we're handing out numbers for the order of who gets to buy it." A card with #1 scrawled on it was slipped into my hands. I turned around to face the wrath of a mid-century modern mob and my heart dropped.

Turns out, there had been plenty of people who had arrived to the resale furniture store parking lot an hour or more before it opened. They didn't think to beat me to the door because I looked like a non-threatening suburban mom who wouldn't know style even it slammed into her minivan. So when I whispered to the salesperson, "I'll take it," a ripple effect occurred. One lady began interrogating me about my knowledge of such pieces of furniture. She and others gathered to determine if I "got it." A man, single and able-bodied, was sure to let the store members know he'd been waiting in his car for quite some time before I showed up. None of these people cared to consider that I busted my butt to make it there, and certainly none of them could have guessed I had any appreciation of fine design. Perhaps as a nice little "up yours," my son then proceeded to climb on the chair, smearing snot on the seat, and crapped his diaper there.

Victory is ours, coolios!

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