Mr. Chair Man

Join an average Joe as he journeys to the very seats of the nation's power -- literally. Can he talk his own bottom into the throne of a Supreme Court justice? The Pentagon perch of the secretary of defense?

"Michael started the process of picking out a new chair about three weeks ago. And normally I wouldn't care, but he promised me his old one. It's way better . . . I really want it."

-- Pam, in "The Office"

Ted Daniel, special assistant to the House of Representatives sergeant-at-arms, drops the velvet rope, and I am on the third of six steps to the top of the rostrum when he states quite clearly, "You can do anything you want but sit in it."

Sit is all I want to do, but I come armed with a million "Antiques Roadshow" questions to camouflage my intentions: What type of wood is the chair made of? Hickory? Brass or copper nails? Has it been reupholstered since the Eisenhower administration?

My knees sink into the royal blue carpet as I go down on all fours to scope out a date or manufacturer on the base of the chair. I am wriggling on my back, squirming, gazing up at the undercarriage as if I am trying to peer up a woman's skirt. In a week's time, I have become a chair pervert.

And, for a CP, this is Mount Everest -- the roost of the speaker of the House. You know it well. The parliamentarian throne from which one can sit and make faces behind the president of the United States of America during the State of the Union address.

I have not sought this high and sacred ground lightly. I am on a quest to sit in the puffy, grandiose chairs of our nation's leaders, and I have prepared myself with discipline and dedication. I even checked with La-Z-Boy, the experts in quality and comfort, and right now the adamant words of the company's product manager of upholstery, Penny Eudy, are pounding in my ears: "Every chair needs the sit test!"

So, to come this far and not sit in this statuesque seat of supremacy is akin to getting a private viewing of van Gogh's "Portrait of Dr. Gachet" with the only caveat being that you have to keep your eyes shut. It's like having Sarah Brightman show up at your karaoke club just as the surly bartender pulls the plug on the microphone.

Ted, as would anyone whose title includes both "sergeant" and "arms," can sense my frustration. He gives me that wary eye, and rightfully so. I'm getting used to it. We all know this town is just "Gossip Girl" with bow ties, so my reputation is preceding me: I'm "the guy who wants to sit in people's chairs."

Melinda Smith, a Senate curator, has even begun referring to my requests as "seatings," and the House curator, Farar Elliott, just left a message on my cellphone that began with: "Chairs ... I've got chairs on the brain. I've got chairs coming out of my ears ..." and ended with a shout, "Seats of power!" as if it were the long-lost rallying call of our founding fathers or, at the very least, the Thundercats.

Even with this bit of bizarre buzz swirling, those receiving my requests still express puzzlement. "You want to what? Why?"

But surely they know. The entire government revolves around chairs and sitting: "The chairperson..." "The court is sitting ... " Two sitting senators are competing for the Oval Office. It's all about the chair. Our political jargon is based on the language of the bent knee and sunken butt. Candidates don't run for a job or a position; they run for a seat. And that leaves the rest of us, who will never have a fundraiser or make a stump speech, with a bad case of seat envy. Is there anyone who hasn't been channel-surfing and stopped at C-SPAN3 just long enough to exclaim, "Look at that smug SOB sitting in that big, bloated chair"?