Sunday, July 29, 2007

The Chair Story

Taking a bit of a break from packing...

Back in the day, oh about in 1999 now, I lived in Emeryville. And it wasn't the Emeryville you see today, coming off the Bay Bridge and heading north on 80. This was at the time they were still debating permits, because of Shellmound St. None of that big shopping complex was there- Ikea had just opened.

I lived off Peralta St. in Dogtown, across the street from a gutted school in a little fenced off group of apartments, in what equated a Tool Shack with a toilet. What the hell- I was happy! I was on my (second) Volvo, purchased from Big Daddy's Auto Repair and Car Detail down the street. Twenty two, recently divorced, just graduated from school. The world was my six foot oyster with a swimming pool of Tabasco sauce too.

I had taken the afternoon to go into Berkeley and run some errands, and for some reason I had taken the bus. On the way back down College Ave., I saw it. Sitting on someone's lawn, ignored by the rest of the crowd hunting through boxes of baby clothes and records. The Chair.

It was a wing back chair, dilapidated and magenta and some sort of terry cloth. Clearly well loved, the age was not clear but the lines were. I got off the bus and went back.

She (seeing neither truck, car or disapproving friend) thought I was crazy, but told me five bucks. Hence, I picked up this over sized, dilapidated chair, and carried it to the 51 Bus Stop some 50 feet away. And waited.

The Bus Driver thought I was nuts too, but said if I managed to get it on she'd let me ride for free. So down College, then Broadway we shot (two kinds of AC Transit rides: Bombs and Crawlers), I'm in the back with a five foot, magenta, dilapidated wing chair. No, I am not remotely phased by this, because I have the greatest wing chair in the world and they do not.

I got off at 40th and Broadway, and The Chair came too. The 58 stop was right around the corner, so we went and waited again. This time, the Bus Driver was not remotely interested, and we got into a cussing match that raised the paint on cars across the street. The bus went on. What to do?

If only there was a shopping cart...

I was reluctant to move more than 20 feet away, for the obvious reason that someone with trunk space would certainly come by and pick it up for the privilege of selling it back to me in 15 minutes, unless I was sitting in it.

Nevertheless, I walked around the corner and the god of idiots and thieves had indeed provided. Shopping Cart, and evidently unclaimed. Up went the chair, and onward went Josie, walking from 40th Street and Broadway to Hollis Street in Emeryville. On the way home, I got five different offers to buy it.

The chair has gone on 5 moves, and been rejected by Goodwill at least once. It has also been rejected by my excellent, excellent family for harboring fleas the size of prunes, who proceeded to suck the cats anemic. It has been in storage, it is now in my living room looking at me. Magenta Terrycloth hideousness and all, because I still haven't got around to re-upholstering it.

And I can't bear to part with it.

2 comments:

Bill Albertson said...

You preserved the chair which spawned fleas of unusual size?! And here I thought that it got picked up by Goodwill...

Dude, you KNOW that thing is going to pick up sand spiders the size of canteloupes if you try to take it with you. Your apartment will end up looking like a bad scene from Arachnaphobia complete with disappearing cats.

aenateus said...

The blog is now "...And A Dilapidated Wing Chair Named Boleslaw."