Arriving at my office early with a list a mile long of things to do before I finish the day, my head is buried in my phone. Which is why I don’t register the very important change until I sit down. Immediately, I scramble to my feet and back away slowly. “You’re not my chair,” I say. The strange chair, obviously, does not respond. A sense of panic unfolds. My old office chair was barely holding on. It complained loudly every time I moved. The lever to adjust the height broke off a year ago, which meant I looked not unlike a child sitting at an adult’s desk. There was one metal piece that
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