David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published April 5, 2005

Who stole my seat? Oh, never mind

I knew I had officially moved beyond elementary school's constraints when I was free to pick my own seat. Assigned seating and cold fried chicken patty sandwiches are what I disliked most about elementary school. The freedom to sit with whomever I wanted -- it was a big deal. In elementary school I was always stuck sitting near Sparks, Spangler and even the occasional Smith, but I longed to sit near an Adams or a Longmire or even, dare I dream, a Callaway.

When the day came to say adios to elementary school and pack up my pencilbox for middle school, I couldn't wait to sit wherever I wanted. If I wanted to sit on the front row with the brainy suck-up kids, I could. If I wanted to sit in the very back row with the wisecracking troublemaker kids, I could. If I wanted to sit near the door so I could be the first to hit the cafeteria to sample that delicious middle-school cuisine, I could do that too. A different day, a different seat, a new view of the world -- that was my plan for the rest of my academic life.

But something unexpected happened. It seems that habit lies somewhere between freewill and destiny. We humans are creatures of habit, like the cat who sleeps near the same window every day. Without realizing it and quite unintentionally, I started to assign myself a seat in class. With 30 or so chairs to pick from, I sat in the same one day in and day out. For years I had yearned to have total chair-picking autonomy, but when I got it, I tossed it aside in favor of familiarity, routine and a sense of order.

It carried on to high school and college too, except it was even worse there. In middle school, almost all of my matriculating took place in one room with one seating arrangement. I had one seat choice to make. But in high school and college, every course was in a different room. Every day brought forth multiple seat choices, and yet with this smorgasbord of chairs to sample, I still sat in the same seat in each room.

I've noticed that most everyone does this. Regardless of choice, we usually stick with our seats. Dance with who brung ya, or so they say.

Parking lots are the same way. Once we find a parking spot we can depend on, we remain true and faithful to it.

Back when I was working full-time at the Chronicle, we didn't have assigned parking spaces -- well, they weren't officially assigned. Unofficially, we knew where everyone liked to park. No one ever told us that the sports editor parks here, the advertising director parks there, and the head pressman parks right under that big tree, but that's where they parked. We didn't need a memo from the boss. We figured it out. Everyone had a little rectangle all their own.

Every so often a new employee would come to work and not yet have a feel for the unofficial (official) parking spaces. The new person would park, oh, just wherever. Some longtime Chronicle staffers would handle the change and adapt, but there were others (no, I won't name names) who would become visibly shaken at the break in routine. They didn't like it. They didn't like it one bit. No sirree. For some folks a reliable parking space represents a measure of control in a chaotic world. It's comforting. It's like a little slice of home on the asphalt.

I can empathize, honestly I can. Now in my second incarnation as a college student, I still fall into my old habits of picking one seat for a class and sticking with it. I'm taking chemistry now and haven't budged an inch. I'm not the only one. The other students sit in the same seats, even though we are free to sit wherever the ionic bonds push us. If I'm crazy, so are they. In fact, I'm doing quite well in the class. I can't move now. I might jinx myself. I know logically that sitting in the same seat and wearing the same T-shirt on test days has nothing to do with academic achievement, but life isn't always logical. If it's working, don't mess with it. That's what I say.

These days, I like to sit up front. It's not because I'm a suck-up kid. I haven't sucked up to anyone in years, and I haven't been a kid in decades. I just like the view of the chalkboard. Pushing 35, my eyes aren't what they used to be. But that's OK. They're still sharp enough to scope out a good seat.

· · ·
David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.