I was chaired a few times. The way I remember it, I was put there after being yelled at, and I faced the wall all day. I was sat upstairs, by the coordinators desk, and so I was watched the whole time. had to sit still.. could not look around, move your hands or arms, close your eyes, stretch your back.. nothing... just sit, staring straight ahead, motionless, in a chair that was not designed to be sat straight in, with a metal piece sticking into your back. If you broke the rules, and twiddled your thumbs or something, some annoying MFer "pulled you up" on it. I was interrogated for about an hour while in the chair, by some dude prepared to write my guilt. I gave him nothing. At the end of the day, my back hurt, but I didn t mind the chair so much.. like you mentioned somewhere in your post, it was at least a break. .. and I kinda saw the whiole things as a challege.
But this is something weird, speaking of chairs, ya know what I really fucking hated from day one.. in all the meetings, we were lined up so tight in those rows, and we had to sit with our legs together as tight as we could, and we had to be touching the people next to us, and smelling them. and when someone had to walk through, rather then being able to stand up, we had to all shift to the left,in unison with our legs so tightly pressed together, in an act very unnatural to a man.
LMAO! To my 16 year old self, sitting like this, and far worse, moving like this, gave me a very feminine feeling, and I fricking hated it. It made me feel, as I remember thinking ( no offense to anybody) faggy. And I didn t very much like having people all pressed up against me either, especaillly when they were sweaty or smelt bad. It felt undiginified, and I felt like in order to do it everyday, I had to be unaware of much of my environment, and again, it felt very unnatural. I was to just think of us all as pieces of meat, all stuck together, in one big orgy of "Who gives a fuck?"
Eventually, I just got use to it, and it didn t bother me at all. It was just a part of life. ( But it did bother me, that it no longer bothered me)
I guess sometimes, it s the little things. This is a very subjective experience I suppose, but that that is how I recall it. How do I maintain my identity, when any slobberring motherfucker, can be all pressed up against me, and I him, to each as if the other is not there, and has no personality, and I no judgement of him, and him no judgement of me, and together we are nothing more, then each a piece of a tight formation, each a part of something that is merely functional, but not functional for the self, but rather ourselves subserviant to it, and it functional, merely for the purpose of herding us together. There was really no other reason. there was so much more room that we could have made use of, but noone was suppose to feel that they deserved space from anyone else, just as we each must divulge our darkest secrets to any schmo who asked, unable to even questions their motives.
Paul St. John