The Twelve Chairs

The monument to Mel Brooks' "The Twelve Chairs" in Odessa.  

On Friday, John calls me up.  One of the 12 chairs I've loaned him for Father's Day is missing a bolt.  A few weeks back, before the three of us went to see "Follies," I schlepped the chairs, the cushions, the tablecloths in my car.  Just call me Sister of the Year.  I remember the Incident, as we say in my family.  Something goes slightly askew, it deserves dramatic recognition.  "I know," I say.  "I found the bolt in my trunk and gave it to Timmy." "Oh, no," John says.  "What's wrong?"  "He probably put it somewhere and we'll never find it again."  John calls Tim.  We have a conference call.  "Tim, talk to Carol."  "Hi, Timmy."  "Hi, Carol."  "Hi honey.  How you doin'?"  "I"m okay, how are you?" We go back and forth like this till John cuts us off.  "Get to the bolt."  We discuss the bolt situation, as though we're trying to find hidden jewels sewn into the lining.  Except these piece of crap wooden chairs don't have lining.  But you get the idea.  Tim remembers me handing him the priceless bolt.  The rest is a blur.  John tells him to check the pants he was wearing when we went to "Follies."  A long discussion follows.  Which pants? I check my iPhone photos.  "You were wearing black pants.  Or dark gray."  "They were navy," Tim says.  This leads to more discussion.  Are the pants at John's place or Tim's?  "I have them," Tim says, and checks the pocket.  A long pause.  "Tim?"  "It's not here."  "Did you put it in the coat pocket?" I ask.  "He was wearing my coat.  And he didn't have it on when we were putting the chairs away," John says.  "Sorry," Tim says.  "Oh, Timmy," I say,"it's my fault."  (Isn't everything?)  "Maybe the bolt's in the guest house, where we put the chairs," Tim says.  "Don't worry," John says, "I'll spend the next three hours searching for the bolt.  You guys go on with your day.  Don't worry about me.  I'll just sit here in the dark."  "I'd rip up the floorboards," I suggest.  "Helpful," John says, and tells me he's going to send a picture of a bolt from one of the other chairs.  "Why do I need a picture of a bolt?" "In case Howard has one like it, and you can bring it on Sunday."  "Or I could just bring one of my metal folding chairs.  Or I could  go out and buy 12 new chairs and bring those."  "Or I could just cancel Father's Day.  You think Dad will mind?" John asks.  "No, I'm sure he'll understand."