One time, when I was in high school, some friends and I went to this little cafe dealy thing on the Isle of Palms. I don’t think it is there any more. And I’m glad. Because I hated it.
It wasn’t the food. It was the furniture.
The folks I was with wanted to sit outside. One look at the plastic chairs and table and I knew that nothing good could come from it. Have I mentioned that I (as a fat person) HATE plastic chairs? I have this incredible fear of sitting on a plastic chair, and it just crumbling beneath me.
So we sat down. Whenever I am forced to sit in a plastic chair I always sit near the front edge and try and put as little weight on it as possible. That is what I was doing when the chair crumbled beneath me. Like as in disintegrated. Like my ass on the ground. Rear end hurt. Hands hurt. Pride hurt…Ouch.
The folks I was with were in shock as much as I was. They helped me up, brushed me off and then took a look at the chair. Everyone made excuses about how the chair must have already been cracked or weathered because it was outside for so long or something. I knew the truth. The simple truth was that a chair made out of plastic is not meant to hold a man made out of 300+ pounds.
I will never forget how embarrassing that experience was.
Ever since that time, I have avoided and still avoid plastic chairs. I am especially talking about the type that are seen in the above picture from that terrible incident that plagued Virgina this year. Those chairs scare me. The mere thought of them embarrasses me. The fact that they exist aggravates me. My hiney hurts just thinking about them.
I do not care if I lose 150 pounds, I will always eye those seats with malicious contempt.