Nobody ever said this sort of life was easy.

But here I am.

Right now, my occupant is a fellow by the name of Mr. Height. Although it might be more accurate to say that I'm occupying him, at the moment. This is...unpleasant, to say the least.

You see, Mr. Height is...wide. Big-boned, some people call it? I feel like I'm being sucked in; his bottom is practically surrounding and engulfing me. I'd wager to say that at least a quarter of it is hanging off each side of me. I bet that some might enjoy this...warm embrace, of sorts. But in this position, I smell something that I'd rather not. It ain't Earl Grey tea, at the least.

Why was this guy's family name not "width?"

There are others much more suited for this sort of abuse. I actually came from a factory that turned out the sort that works in an office...cushy leather, plenty of room, adjustable height, arm rests...you name it. But me? I was built for school children. I've got four metal legs and a piece of molded plastic, and that's about it. Certainly not enough room for this gigantic Ass of Destruction.

Never mind the fact that I'm in the wrong place to begin with. This is a HIGH SCHOOL. I'm the perfect size for elementary students, maybe middle-schoolers. Do I look like I can accommodate adults? Especially those whose asses are approximately the size of Rhode Island?

This is even worse than what happened last week. I feel like a haircut happened right on top of me, but I guess it was just shedding season, or something. When this girl was done with me, I was practically covered in hair. But it wasn't just any hair; I think she soaked it in oil first. I felt like I gained 12 pounds just by touching it...but that still would leave me hundreds of pounds behind the Ass of Destruction. I'll have to try harder...

In this room, the only things about as old as me are the computers. Mr. Height is typing away at some sort of document...I'd tell you what it was, but I can't see through the Destruction Dome. Usually I have at least a few inches worth of viewing area, especially if the person is some skinny-as-a-rail sort of girl...we have several of those, of course, because we have a football team, after all. But he can't be working on anything *that* great. Let me put it this way; we upgraded these from Apple IIe machines only recently. They're less old now, but that's like saying that instead of them being older than dirt, they're just days younger than dirt. Usually, being around such old computers would mean that I don't get too many occupants...but quality over quantity, right? This is some quality ass right here. Lowest. Quality. Ass.

One of these days...I'm going to get tired of just being sat on all the time. It'll be time to stand up for myself. Except that I'm already standing, and I can't rise up any taller. Damn it. Damn it all.

"Aaron" (Wed 10/10/2012, 9:36 AM):
Fun fact: this story is entirely based on real-life events...mostly, a mental image that I can never un-see. Names were NOT changed...nobody is innocent or deserves protecting, here!

"Amy" (Sat 2/16/2013, 9:20 PM):
::waiting for the day our chairs overthrow us::