Hey. Hey you. Did I say you could drag away that chair?
Oh. I’m eating Coco Roos by myself and reading the Times so you just assumed that nobody was using that chair? So you just dragged it away, like that? How presumptuous. I thought I came to a small liberal arts college to avoid ass-hats like you.
You know, I’m not even that mad that you wanted the chair. We all need chairs. It’s New Side on Wednesday at 12:15, we’re all looking for a nice beige chair to park our butts in. But you just started scraping away wordlessly, like a shitty Ol K hookup. If you had asked, if you had said please, maybe I would’ve said yes. Okay, I definitely woudn’t have said yes, because I’m making a huge fucking deal out of this already. But I would’ve appreciated it, and I wouldn’t be here berating you as you stand with a bowl of creamy tomato soup sloshing in one of those half-moon pointy bowls because Peirce was all out of regular bowls and Vegetarian was serving a quinoa-stuffed bell pepper in one of those half-moon pointy bowls so you went over and got one and now we’re here.
We can’t change that now.
Would you go back? If you could? Would you go back to a time before you started pulling that chair with all your might (actually you look pretty muscular, it’s probably not too much work) right on over to your square table with your friend who needs that short end so that he’s sticking out and everyone has to awkwardly squish around him? If you have that many people, sit at a goddamn round table. I could use your square table; I’m just one person, why the hell am I sitting by myself at this enormous round table?
I have no idea why, but all I know is that now all these chairs are under my jurisdiction as long as I’m sitting here. And I want them all to stay right here, all 28 of them.
That’s right. I dragged over 28 Peirce chairs. Now no one has a place to sit. And guess what? I. NEED. ALL OF THEM!
So the next time you assume that someone isn’t using a chair, ask. Or, don’t even ask. Just shuffle by benignly and wait until one is unwatched like a fawn, and pounce on it. Yes. Pounce on a chair like it’s beige, wooden prey. It’s ruthless out here, I tell ya, ruthless.
I hope you go onto Old Side. I hope you have so few chairs that you have to drag yourself over there and sit on one of those godforsaken benches next to the lacrosse players, and you’re going to have to watch all of them eat pulled pork, and there will be no escape. You’ll have to swing your legs over the bench in order to exit, and you’ll either be too close to or too far from your food, depending on how the rest of the bench is oriented.
That. That is the fate I’ve sealed for you. That you spend the rest of your days on Old Side like a splinter, like a crumb swept under one of those romantic-looking-but-ultimately-impractical long tables. And you will suffer. Suffer.
Actually, you can have this other chair- it’s a lil’ wobbly, but it’s fine.