Friday, June 17, 2016

You Gotta Believe!

It was Monday afternoon at the mall.  The stores were mostly empty except for a few women shopping as their husbands slept on couches in the hall.  A handful of teenagers wandered about wondering how they could make a difference in the world.  (Nah, I made up that last part!).  They were just wandering.

This pair of chairs didn't know what to make of the situation.  They became frightened.  Their leather started to sweat, and their mechanisms made funny little sounds no one had ever heard before.

On a normal day, these chairs would be attacked by hordes of little monsters with sharp little toys.  The worst was that the parents were totally indifferent to the injuries the little monsters could inflict on the chairs.  And if it wasn't little monsters it was grouchy and obese old men wearing sandals with white socks. They'd drop their huge bulk into the chairs like a sack of potatoes causing great internal agony.

But today things were different.  Later on as people talked about this event, they said it started very quietly.  The chairs began to move.  Just a little.  Kind of like they shuddered.  Then, very gradually, the shudder turned into a drum beat, and the beat grew faster and louder and by god, the chairs started to move with the beat.  

They bounced up and down, then side to side, twisting and twirling.  Kids from the far reaches of the mall trundled down the halls to see what was going on. They laughed and clapped and bounced about in time with the chairs.  

Three older women and one older man came up to the kids.  The man asked, "What are you doing?"  

"We're dancing with the chairs," several kids said in unison as the bounced up and down.

"But the chairs aren't dancing," one of the women complained.  "They're just sitting there."

"No, no, no," said a tall, red-headed girl.  "They are so dancing!  Can't you see them?  What's wrong with you?"  

And that's when I came by to take these photos.  It was just in time, too, because one of the women, heavy as a house, plopped down in the left hand chair and everything stopped.  The chairs were once again, just chairs.  

The old people started to leave, one of them mumbling, "I just don't believe it!" The others shook their heads in agreement.

"But, don't you see?" called out the tall, red-headed girl.  "That's the problem!" 


bill burke said...

Please have a seat! Love your commentary :)

Bibi said...

Clever. Love your humor. My favorite memory of a massage chair was seeing a little boy about five, eyes closed, wide, wide smile, just clutching the arms and letting himself be pleasantly pummeled and rolled. He was in ecstasy.

magiceye said...

That was brilliant!!

Linda said...

I love your quick and clever wit, Lowell! I have seen these once or twice in malls but have never seen them in use. :)

Petrea Burchard said...

How wonderful, Jacob/Lowell. Such a great imagination you have. Bibi, I love your story as well.

Francisco Manuel Carrajola Oliveira said...

Um texto bem humorado.
Um abraço e bom fim de semana.

PerthDailyPhoto said...

You set the scene so well even here on the other side of the world.. in the most isolated city in the world.. I swear I saw those chairs dance Lowell 😉😃

Gunn said...

I am SMILING.:-)
Well written !!
I will think about your story, when I see chairs like these two.

Sharon Anck said...

I'm so glad you captured them while they were dancing! I'm smiling a big smile!

RedPat said...

I love your story, Lowell! ;-))

William Kendall said...

I have seen chairs like this at a community services agency before.

Kate said...

Visit those chairs regularly, Lowell, I believe that they will work their magic on you.

Kay said...

Didn't I see this pair once on "Dancing with the Stars?"

Small City Scenes said...

You got it!! You hit the nail right on the head or the chair in it's soft spot.

Karl Demetz said...

Nice story, Lowell :)

"Photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing and when they have vanished there is no contrivance on earth which can make them come back again." — Henri Cartier-Bresson