Get Adobe Flash player

No Chair Will Ever Be ‘Our Chair.’ I’ve Come For MY Wi-Fi

April 18th, 2013 · Tags:Uncategorized


Let’s just say for a second that the Wi-Fi hotspot at your favorite Starbucks is working for a change … and you’re about to grab your favorite blogging chair … but “What’s this?” … Someone is seated “in my chair?”

I mean, if a guy can have a regular pew in church (which I have, quite territorially for 27 years) then surely one can call dibs on a favorite chair in Starbucks. Ha, talk about entitlement. The baristas at my Starbucks refer to one of the easy chairs beside the bar as “Kent’s chair.”


Ha … this “ownership thing” has even trickled down to the clientele. My new friend Aziz — a student with a new set of Dr. Dre Beats headphones and the most sweet/glorious collection of expensive NFL and NBA ball caps ever — hopped up the other day to give me the seat. “No, go ahead,” he insisted. “It is your chair.”

I like this guy!

Anywho, call me spoiled, creature of habit or whatever. I got no problem with that!

So what to do if one of the “uninitiated” show up and sit in your chair, unwittingly?

Hmmm … we called in the research department on a Sunday and together we came up with a list of offensive strategies:


Crazily, drop down on one’s hands and knees mumbling, “I’ve dropped my best vial of white spores.”


Smack crack chew, and pop with two or three pieces of Super Bubble just within earshot. (For added results, bite off 2-3 fingernails and a hangnail, add to the mix.)


Sniff armpits (one’s own thank you) and ask the seat invader if they too love the smell of fresh brewed.



Call up the utility company of choice, telling them you wish to suspend service for an account that doesn’t really exist, answering all of the questions quite verbose, loudly and courteously, remembering to enunciate and phonetically spell words that could be misunderstood over the cellular technology.



Tell the squatter that your Facebook photo features you kissing your Ruger 9mm pistol and invite them to friend you “Or else!”



Start warming up a neti pot nearby.



Exercise the fine art of public sleeping in the closest chair, snoring at will.



Awake from the fine art of public sleeping, wave hand in front of face, smile as if really pleased with onesself and go back to sleep.



Turn your music up louder than even Aziz’s (I like to say Aziz’s’s’s … I digress).  Finish your iced drink, then really go after that last shard of ice in the bottom of the cup, USING that little green straw for all its worth.



Hand the person a religious tract, telling them God has asked you to personally deliver the copy to them.


Dang. I could have stopped at number 6. The dude left and my chair is open. Good thing. I was about to “pull out the big guns,” remove my shoes and do “Three Little Pigs” in different character voices, while harvesting toe jam with a pocket knife.

Gotta run, before someone else beats me to my chair.

Know what I sayin?