Furniture Adoption: Putting Good Chairs in Good Homes

At my apartment complex, we have a lovely little area that is full of all sorts of treasures. Boxes of old VHS tapes. Three-fourths of a kitchen room set. Slightly used shoes with torn laces. Broken coffeemakers. Old computers. Thirty-two-inch 75-pound CRT “big” screen TVs. All available–all free of charge–and found in trash area. Most residents are kind enough to keep the truly great prizes outside of the trash bin. Some folks throw it away (maybe that’s a sign that it truly is trash). But you know what they say: “One man’s trash…”

About two months ago I found a grand prize. Someone had decided they no longer need two of the finest barstools you’d ever seen. The chairs had aluminum frames with padded swivel tops. Unlike most of the treasure I find in the trash, these chairs were in remarkable shape. The fabric was clean, unstained, and without rips. All four legs sat flat on the group without the slightest hint of a wobble. The seats turned without any grinding, squeaking, or resistance of any kind. Dare I say it (I dare, dare)–these chairs were as like new as something could possibly be. There was no doubt in my mind that the barstools were much too nice to be in the trash. Even if The Wife didn’t want them, I was certain I could find someone who did.

I took them home with glee, eager to show The Wife what I had found. Compared to the junk I normal drag out of the trash, I figured she would wholeheartedly agree with me that these did not deserve to be in the trash. Much to my delight, The Wife agreed that these were excellent barstools. We tried to welcome the barstools into our home by put them next our preexisting barstools; unfortunately, that didn’t work. Not only did the two pairs of mismatched chairs clash, it was a poor use of space (turning what was once comfortable to a place I no longer wished to be). We gave it a week before we both admitted that the barstools had no place in our home. “But they are truly too good for the trash,” The Wife said. “I’m sure we’ll find someone who wants them.”

I asked my parents–baby boomers in a four-bedroom home adjusting to empty nest syndrome. After 36 years of housing, feeding, and financially supporting children they we now living in a home that was much too large and much too empty for two people living alone. They were in the process of turning one of the bedrooms into a bar. Neither one of them drinks very much, nor do they have friend over often, but turning a room into a bar is just something parents are required to do when their kids move out (it’s a phase all parents go through: you just gotta let them grow out of it). We showed them pictures of the barstools. My folks agreed they were fine chairs; however, they simply had no use for them. Barstools had already been purchased and adding two more would have violated the fire code. “But they are lovely barstools,” my mother said. “Someone will want them.”

Since my brother had recently moved out and was getting his own place for the first time, he seemed like a suitable target. Although he never joined a frat in college and he was seven years removed from his college graduation, my brother strongly believed in the fraternity mantra. Why? Probably because it was 5:00 somewhere. He got a prime apartment walking distance from downtown. By my count, there were approximately 753 bars within a 10-minute walk from his apartment. For someone who had no problem getting smashed every Tuesday (dollar beer night) and spent Black Friday buying a 72-inch TV, barstools seemed like a perfect fit. I told him about the barstools, sent him pictures, and thought I had him sold. Unfortunately, his apartment didn’t have a bar. Or a kitchen table. Plus, he preferred to do his drinking on the outside. “But they are excellent barstools,” he told me. “I’m sure someone else can use them.”

My mother-in-law appreciates good furniture. She spends much time talking about Grandma’s table, Uncle’s armoire, and she once spent six months searching for a sofa. If anyone could understand what great barstools we had, she could. She spent a lifetime living in apartments and was very familiar with trash bin finds. Giving the chairs’ outstanding beauty and fascinating back story, I knew she would want the barstools. It would probably require a rearranging of her kitchen and disposable of her current barstools, but in my heart I truly believed she would take them. Alas, I was wrong. Those obstacles were far too great to overcome. “They are really nice barstools,” she said. “Give them to someone else who needs them more.”

This process repeated for weeks. We asked friends, relatives, mortal enemies. We asked friends of friends. Talked to bars, churches, and security guards at department stores. Everyone agreed the barstools were excellent chairs and far too good for the trash. But no one wanted them.

I tried selling them on America’s favorite virtual swapmeet: Craigslist. I didn’t ask for a lot–a mere $20 with assurances that they would be going to a good home. After a week with no takers I dropped the price $10. Another week added another $10 price drop. A week after that, I dropped the request for a good home. I tired posting in Orange County, LA County, San Diego County, and Riverside. I posted under furniture. I posted under antiques. I posted under recreational activities, adult classified, and free. I tried best of Craigslist. I tried eBay. I tried the Pennysaver. These chairs were about as wanted as a blind, three-legged ferret with temper issues and bladder control problems. Despite all of my struggles, I held firm to the belief that they were good chairs and someone would want them. “They truly are fine barstools: someone has got to want them.”

That was when I realized what I had to do: the chairs had to go. They spent six weeks living under my roof. I desperately tired to find them a new home, but there were no takers. It was 9:15 in the morning. I knew trash pickup was at 11. If I put them outside now, I would never have to see them again. Too good or not, I need those barstools gone. Every time they crossed my glance, I was subtly reminded of my inability to someone who needed them. It was like failure was consistently staring me in the face, four legs at a time.

I left the barstools out by the trash and felt good about it–like closure had finally come my way. When I returned to my kitchen, I realized I had forgotten to take out the kitchen trash, so I hauled the debris back to the trash bin. Much to my surprise, the barstools were gone–gone from where I left them a mere ten minutes ago. The bins were still full and it was still far from 11, so I could only assume someone else took them home.

…someone else who confidently assumed, “These are far too nice for the trash. I’m sure I know someone who will want them.”