Summer Suspension

          Lounging in my new comfy camp chair, lamenting the humidity and avoiding any unnecessary exertion, I noticed the tag of another seat hanging limply. Since it could be said that I appeared to be idling my mind decided to follow along. I realized that I'd never read this tag. My eyes were not perspiring at that moment, so they indulged my whim.

          Despite being mildew stained the bit of material seemed to be intact with legible printing. Its host chair presented as tattered and weathered. The canvas sported burn scars proof that this outdoor furniture had been present at many a roaring campfire.

          Huh, this tag discretely dangling for numerous summers was a warning label. How had I missed this? This chair had been proffered to family and friends alike. What dangers had lurked? What precautions had I ignored?

          Apparently, I've been remiss in not weighing the sitters before they relax. According to the first line of the tag this chair has a maximum load capacity of 102 kilograms, or 225 pounds. I've never thought to embarrass my guests. I put their comfort, their ease, their very privacy before their safety.

          The second line urges a potential user to "exert care during assembly / disassembly of frame so that fingers are not pinched." Obviously, this does not refer to a theft, but I robbed everyone of this specific alert. Yes, this chair doesn't require assembly because it simply folds, or unfolds, but I should have at least issued a "be careful."

         The manufacturer reiterated "exceeding maximum seated weight capacity may cause personal injury and / or damage to product: user must ensure weight is evenly distributed." First, this assumes that a user will indeed sit. There are occasions when a chair acts as a temporary step ladder. I must admit I've never considered the conscious effort of even weight distribution. My weight is contained. When I drop / flop / submit to a chair it's all or nothing. Where could a potential sitter shift their weight? Don't most butts spread during the act of sitting; isn't this a reflex? Should I chastise guests and correct posture? Do I presume every sitter is new to the science, the intricacies of sitting?

          The wording of this next caution is my favourite. "To avoid injury and product failure, any user should carefully enter / exit fabric seating." Sigh, there's that word 'careful' again. Who stops to map out a sitting strategy? Should intentions be expressed?

          "Just so everyone knows, I plan to park myself in that grey chair over there next to the tree. Yes, that'll be an entry. Be quiet now. We don't want to spook it. I'll approach slowly. Does it look to be agreeable? Hi, may I sit with you? I'm just gonna lower myself nice and easy. You let me know if I need to redistribute my weight, okay?"

         This warning seems a tad over the top. "This product is not a toy." Really? With all of these explicit cautions I believe I'd need to wear a helmet to play with this product. Who could consider fun with imminent injury lurking? Hmmm, maybe I need to hire a vigilant Mom to holler, "Put that down! It's not a toy."

         The second to last warning suggests placement sites for the chair. "Intended for use on a flat and even surface preferably at ground level." What? Didn't I mention I camp? The outdoors is rife with uneven surfaces such as beach sand, tree roots, rocks /stones, bumps, ant hills and more. Now, I'll have to enforce a new camp rule for everyone's safety. Absolutely no sitting up on the deck, in a canvas chair. Height, or is that altitude may compromise the stability of said furniture.

         I found the final words of the tag to be ambiguous. "This product has been designed for normal and customary usage." Um, define normal. Is there someone who does not recognize that a chair is a receptacle? Is it not a universal signal to stop, relax and take a load off?

         Of course idle thinking led me to recall the vinyl, web-woven in a criss-cross pattern, white plastic arm rests, aluminum-framed lawn chairs of my youth. I seem to remember that yellow and turquoise were the most popular colours. They were not the most comfortable or accommodating of chairs. The vinyl weave left conspicuous gaps that human flesh pressed into. It felt rough. It scratched skin especially tender sunburned skin. Heat and perspiration formed a stubborn glue.

         Were there consumer warnings / user beware cautions on these vinyl webby chairs? I wonder...These are restrictions we never knew beforehand.

          Warning, the structural integrity of this vinyl product may be compromised by weight, product fatigue, fires, misuse and sun damage. Use at your own risk.

         Those light weight chairs were prone to throw in the towel / refuse to support without any advance warning. It was always a surprise. Did this lawn chair's burden become too much to bear?

          The weakened vinyl would disintegrate the exact moment an anticipatory seater's butt connected with it. Usually, an ice cold beverage would be flung dousing the unsuspecting victim. There is a point of no return once the butt has committed itself. The webbing separates. Gravity joins in to pull. The momentary feeling of weightlessness is all too soon replaced by an inevitable thud of a teeth-rattling stop. The sitter finds him or herself folded, awkwardly, nose to knee cap, within the confines of the former frame. Their lower legs are suspended in the air and their arms are pinched to their bodies. Where was the warning of possible pinching?

         What could've been construed as misuse? Should we have been advised not to stand on this flimsy chair? The open gaps snatched innocent legs leaving the uninformed wearing a vinyl and aluminum tutu.

          Those lethal gaps in the webbing also trapped delicate mounds / rolls / protrusions of flesh. Extricating one's self proved a painful struggle. Where was the warning that a product exit could require the assistance of a fellow sitter? Caution, never attempt to use this product when you are alone.

          Why were we not warned that this chair would leave a semi-permanent, red, criss-cross pattern etched upon the back of our thighs? We consumers were stranded. Were product inspectors sitting down on the job?

          Not once were sitters cautioned to exert care during the unfolding of these stubborn seats. First of all they could not be opened one-handed. They resisted shaking maneuvers. They were impervious to coaxing. The back legs required an extra kick to straighten them. The arm rests controlled the back rests and seldom stayed put.

         In reality though, do we need instructions on how to seat ourselves? Are they necessary?

         To sit is to trust. We turn our backs to a chair. We approach it blindly. It's a docking station of sorts. We back into and onto a chair with our backsides exposed and extended. We lower our guards and our bodies. We submit. We expect to be welcomed and supported.

         Huh, I never know where languishing in a chair will take me. 1180 words