On Tuesday I was on my way to work, about five minutes down the road, when I spotted an orphaned desk chair at the end of somebody’s driveway leaning a little drunkenly on three wheels. The fourth was thoughtfully taped on, though I mostly noticed the “FREE chair” sign, and mostly the “FREE”. I, naturally, demonstrated to an empty road my car’s braking abilities and stuffed said chair into the back seat.
I don’t usually pick up desk chairs, I already have two good ones. But when a good oak desk chair shows up on the curb – patent 1918, in fairly good condition except for one leg the caster busted out of – I heed my primordial Yankee instinct to save good things from needless waste. That, and I’m pretty sure I heard it calling my name.