Hitler Takes Revenge On My Ass--Literally

When I arrived at work this morning, I discovered a little known fact: Hitler’s not dead. It’s true. Apparently, the good people at SitOnIt-Seating have resurrected him expressly to design a chair to break the will of employees. And by “employees” I mean me.

At some point over the weekend my company decided that the office had been back pain-free for entirely far too long. And rather than investing in that foosball table I’ve been lobbying for, the company equipped us all with new ergonomic chairs. In case anyone was wondering, “ergonomic” is apparently synonym for “uncomfortable as fuck.”

There are four levers and a seven page instruction manual. My new chair has approximately 18,000 positions, none of them comfortable. I’m beginning to think that I’m not nearly qualified to operate this thing. Seriously, I have the sneaking suspicion that you need a class 3 license just to sit down.

After an hour of the new chair, I began losing feeling in the left side of my body. So I went to complain.

“Listen, I don’t know what I did, but I swear I’m sorry. For the love of Christ, let me have my old chair back.”

“I’m sorry” said the receptionist. “The old chairs have been disposed of. You’ll have to make due.”

“Fine!” I said. “Then when my lunch rolls around, I’m heading down to Spencer’s Gifts, picking up a velour beanbag chair and putting my computer on the floor!”

The receptionist stopped typing and gave me a once over. She saw that I meant business.

“Look” she said, “All the chairs have to be the same. We’re trying to promote a more professional environment. I’m sorry if the new seating is a little uncomfortable, but—“

“A little uncomfortable??? Were the designs for these things swiped from the Spanish Inquisition? I’m pretty sure that these chairs were originally used to punish unbelievers.”

“If you’d like, you can file a complaint with our decorations committee. Maybe they can approve the requisition of an alternate seating arrangement in three or four weeks based on medical problems.”

“Are implying that my ass isn’t a corporate priority? Because I’m ten seconds away from bringing in my La-Z-Boy from home.”

“Ehren—“

“I noticed none of the CEOs are using the new chairs.”

“I can’t comment on that.”

Basically, I’ve been fucked again by big business. I mean, first it was the Enron scandal and now this. Where will it all end?

Clearly, the gauntlet has been thrown down: my ass or my job. Is it worth getting fired for stealing the boss’s chair? We’ll find out tomorrow. I can see it now:

My boss pushes away from his desk, switches off the light, and locks his door for the evening. Ten minutes later, clothed all in black, I descend from the air-duct, Mission Impossible style. It’s the perfect plan. Except for, you know, figuring out how to cram a chair back up through the vent. But what the hell? If I managed to bang a fat girl in a two seater, I figure this ought to be a piece of cake.