Twelve years ago, shortly after moving into an apartment in the Biltmore area of Phoenix, I went to a thrift store looking for a filing cabinet. I didn't find one, but I did find a recliner, for $13. I called a friend, who called her brother, who picked it up for me. His good deed did not go unrewarded; on the way home he found a torchiere lamp discarded on the side of the road, which he took home and put to use.
Fast forward eight years. My recliner began sticking when I tried to change the position. Then I discovered that a bolt had dropped out. I turned the chair over and searched until I found a likely hole, and replaced the bolt. I could not make it stay in place. I knew that whenever I moved it, and sometimes when I didn't, I would need to turn the chair over again and fix it.
Just before leaving for New York last month I had a sinking feeling. Literally. I suspected that more than the original bolt was in trouble, but didn't have the time or energy to explore. Today I did.
A different bolt had fallen out, and the frame member that's supposed to hold it is split, too.
While I was looking for an empty hole I saw a stock tag, dated 6/23/70. I was still in high school.
What is the expected life of a recliner, anyway?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment