Don’t ask me to chair a meeting – it’ll end in tears. I have to confess – I’m a chair breaker. I’ve never intentionally tried to give you the impression that I’m a skinny person, but I’ve never compared myself with Kirstie Alley either. It’s not that I’m particularly fat or heavy – although, to keep that in perspective, I think Mike Tyson’s fighting weight is only a shade over my walking weight. But put me in a certain kind of chair and it’s only a matter of time before one of us cracks. Up to now, it’s always been the chair. And I’m sure my reaction is a lot less dangerous than Iron Mike’s would be. You have my assurance that, however spectacular my fall, everyone’s ears will remain intact.
The first time I encountered the problem was a few years back when I was sitting in a director’s chair on a friend’s balcony. Fortunately, I didn’t have my back to the seventh-floor view, because as I reached forward for a peanut or chip – the memory’s hazy about which – there was a ripping sound and I was catapulted backwards. I knew the chair must have collapsed, but didn’t know if the ripping sound coincided with a new opening in my jeans. In fact, the chair seat had torn in two, and my jeans were intact – not the worst result possible. Of course, the laughter and accusations implied that it was in some way my fault. ‘Lard-arse’, I believe, was one theory. But my inspection of the seat fabric revealed years of neglect. Salt-water corrosion and sun damage had made the chair an accident waiting to happen. They can think themselves lucky I didn’t sue.
Now, I like to make people laugh, but not by falling over, off or under things. And there’s nothing more annoying than people guffawing with laughter just because you’re no longer sitting in front of them. I mean, why is that funny? Of course, they make concerned noises about your health, but this is usually after everyone has had a good laugh and a few puns have been tossed around, ‘Three chairs for Merc!’
Last Christmas Day was the most recent demolition of some friends’ furniture. It looked solid as a rock, a stylish, all-timber folding chair. Imagine my surprise when I leaned forward for my second slice of cake and found myself heading backwards onto the lawn. The timber had rotted through and the whole back of the chair had snapped off. ‘Had a bit too much Christmas chair,’ somebody said. Oh, how I laughed.
I’m just as destructive with our own chairs, which I always try to repair and which always break when I’m testing them. Believe me; most of those supposedly invincible adhesives are unsuitable for fixing chairs. So far, the count is one director’s chair, one safari chair and one dining chair. The only one that was repairable was the dining chair, not that I sit on it. That’s the generous kind of person I am, prepared to let someone else get the laughs for a change.
The common factor seems to be that the chair breaks either when I’m leaning forward of when I’m getting up. Now to explain this is a bit tricky, but it’s all to do with moments. Structural engineers will know what I’m getting at. When I’m sitting, my back is reasonably perpendicular to the seat and, therefore, to the ground below. But when I lean forward, that part of my weight is trying to push my whole body backwards, with only the chair providing the resistance. Or in my case, often not providing enough resistance to stay in one piece. It’s like why you should climb over a gate at the hinge and not at the catch...only it’s not really. You see, I’m completely blameless. Now, if only our teachers had explained vectors by describing people reaching for cake while seated in a director’s chair, I’m sure we’d all have achieved better grades.
So there you have it. Ask me at your own risk if I’d like to sit down. And always give outdoor furniture the once-over before sitting down. Remember the eighth rule of comedy: it’s always funny when someone falls out of a chair – unless that someone is you.
