Eventually, as happens to all things, their time comes to an end. Sometimes they tilt too far. Or stop rolling. Or dump their once-loyal masters one too many times.
And then, because no one seems to ever want to take them outside, or thinks that someday they'll have time to fix them, they go to their final, secretive, resting place:
This picture is a rare peek at the mysterious chair graveyard in the back of the Grumpy/Pissy medical compound. Every medical office, however, has one of these rooms. Every law office. Every office in general.
As the years go by they're joined by outdated computers, broken printers, seasonal decorations, telephones, and other aging items. Why we keep them is a mystery. Perhaps because no one wants to take them to the dumpster, or the recycling place. Or we're hoping the Smithsonian will call, needing one for their "Prehistoric Offices" display. Or we're simply afraid to toss them, with a strange belief that someday they'll magically fix or update themselves.
Anyone need a chair?