That’s My Chair

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
Bar, Drama, Friends, Straights Leave a Comment

Life is a game of chairs. Think about it, you’re always looking for a place to sit, with someone to site, and it starts young. In primary school the seats are assigned, by high school cafeteria seating is an art and an act of war, while as an adult you usually have control over the seating and whom you decide to sit beside.

So, when my Straights came to Puerto Rico for a visit over New Year’s it was no surprise that we set up shop at a table, centrally located to watch as the masses poured into the venue which cost $200 per head to attend. Two hours into the open bar and people watching we ran into a hitch. I should mention, the people watching was fantastic. Honestly, the dresses were cut so high and dipped so low, I’m sure each came with a free Brazilian wax and breast tape to keep everything in place.

My Sister Wife, Rebecca, was holding a chair as her fiance went to the bathroom. A security guard came over and began saying something in Spanish. I could understand just enough to know he was saying we had to move the chair from the outside of the table back to the center table where it belonged. We complied and moved the chair only to have a man ask Rebecca to move her purse so he could sit. She declined and he began shouting about two chairs per table. This quickly devolved into a small battle of wills as the security guard, who it turns out this old man had summoned to tattle on us, returned to enforce the two chair per table rule. I’ve never seen Rebecca truly angry, but over the next twenty minutes I thought she was going to kill this guy. We never left the table, making sure to remind the people each time they tried to snag an extra chair of the two per table rule since we had been forced to give up the seat.

Fast forward a few days and I was at a local bar with my friend from London and his fiance, when one of them grabbed a stool which had been sitting unattended for our entire bar visit. Out of no where a girl appeared, shouting about her chair, her chair. I’m beginning to think Puerto Ricans have a special obsession with chairs that goes beyond the mainstream obsession centered around acceptance and not being a loner. She ended up walking away, never sitting or going further into detail about what the hell she wanted with the chair. Clearly, she had no intention of sitting.

Now, with all of said friends gone from this tiny island and back in New York and London respectively, I’m sitting alone once more. Self made isolation which will last another three months until I return to New York. Until then, I’ll be fighting the good fight for a seat at someone’s table to avoid going mad with boredom. Or, I’ll just start randomly shouting “my chair” as I walk by restaurants with outdoor seating.