My Chair at Work

Seriously I hate that chair.

(WARNING this post contains spoilers for House of Cards, much like the poison Walter White used to poison Brock in the Season 4 finale of Breaking Bad, but in like consumable media form as suppose to edible substance form)

It’s comfortable, has arm rests, pretty good in the height adjustment, everything one could ask for in the slightly above average office chair.

But the sound.

Every time I lean forward in it, the spin of the chair makes a chorus of a million rats drowning in an indoor pool inside of a burning house, and the pool is also on fire because of it’s low pH levels (I passed High-school Chemistry with a C-).

That godforsaken sound echoes through the small office space, think Slug-line fromHouse of Cards but less: bean bags, ping-pong tables, iPads, sex with congressmen, and with more booze and an office dog.

The office space being so small that when everyone finally reaches that point in the day when everyone is at max productivity, and I lean forward, it kills the mood as everyone wonders where all the drowning rats are. They soon realize it’s just me the intern in the back corner as far away from everyone as possible.

I’m an unpaid intern, and there’s nothing in my contract keeping them from firing me at any point, so my whole soon-to-be-over-in-three-months-anyway career at the small advertising agency in Phoenix, Arizona all relies on me not giving everyone in the entire suite complex a migraine.

I figure thats why the architectural design company the next door down always gives me dirty looks when I walk by on the way to the bathroom, that or they’re mad because I always forget to lock the door behind me when I finish and they always have to shoo the hobos out of there first thing in the morning. And when hobos have a clean bathroom to themselves all night, things get kinda hot-boxy, and not in the marijuana sense of the phrase.

(I’m saying all night long hobo orgies)

That or the ancient rivalry between architecture design and media production still carries onto to this day. It all started when both of the Lumière Brothers kicked Stephen Sauvestre in the balls. (He’s the one who designed the Eiffel Tower you uncultured shit)

Anyway I really hate this chair. Yes it is one of the most comfortable office chairs I’ve ever sat in, but that hellish noise that could only be described as the devil tuning his fiddle with his anal sphincters before going down to Georgia, just isn’t worth it. And I would hate to replace it, it matches all of the other chairs in the office, other than the one guy’s chair who sits in the other far back corner who has the big fancy leather reclining chair, I would assume he does something important to deserve that chair, but the office dog hates him so assume he’s a slacker. Or a really well dressed hobo that wonders in everyone morning.

And it really fits with the whole modern look of the office, like a small chunk of Seattle rolled into Phoenix because Portland became too mainstream. Once again imagine Slug-Line from House of Cards, but without me getting eaten out while talking on the phone with my dad on Father’s Day. Mainly because I don’t know Kevin Spacey that intimately, don’t have a vagina to eat out, and I would never call my dad on any day regardless of the occasion.

Actually I’m pretty sure the sound the chair makes was similar to the last sound Zoe heard as Frank Underwood pushed her onto the subway tracks in the premiere episode of the second season.

Man no one is going to see the season 3 finale coming when Frank has the secret service officer he’s having a gay affair with assassinate him so that he goes down as a great president in the history books instead of being remembered as the guy who killed his way into the Vice Presidency and ruined another man’s life to get into the oval office by almost starting a war with China.

Still not as good as BoJack Horseman though.

Truly the superior commentary on the current American culture and political climate of all Netflix Original Series.