It’s been a couple years now, I guess, since Greg Schnoor did some Olympic-caliber tumbling in my kitchen. But unlike most gymnasts, he didn’t use a balance beam. Greg used a chair at my kitchen table. It was something to behold.
Greg was starting a business, and I own a small home-based advertising agency. He stopped that morning so we could talk about advertising.
The kitchen is the hub of activity at our house, so we went there, and I offered him a chair.
Greg dropped back into the chair. Then, almost as if it were happening in slow motion, he and the chair kept drop, drop, dropping — all the way to the floor.
For a moment, Greg and I looked at one another, both frozen in shock, our mouths hanging open and our eyes as wide as saucers. Me standing over him and Greg sitting on the kitchen floor among the pieces of wood that had once been a chair.
“Are you OK?” I asked, wondering why that doggone chair couldn’t have attacked its owner instead of a visitor.
Greg, with a sheepish smile on his face by this time, answered something like, “I’m better than the chair,” which had a broken back leg.
I helped Greg to his feet and he took another chair, settling into it quite gingerly this time. I think we both were holding our breaths.
We then talked advertising. But the entire time we were doing that, I kept thinking to myself, “I’m glad he wasn’t hurt, but I sure hope he isn’t good friends with a lawyer!”
Happy birthday, Greg. And next time you visit, please bring some wood glue, will you?
Copyright Oct. 8, 2008. A story written for reading at my friend Greg Schnoor’s surprise Oct. 11 55th birthday party.