The Chair Apparent
CHRONICLES | Vol 1, Chap 7
Kimbo: Costume Queen Archives - Entry 004
THE COSTUME QUEEN WOULD LIKE TO CLARIFY SOMETHING
Apparently, there’s been an investigation.
About a chair.
MY chair.
Well, technically, it belongs to the Kimboverse.
But I’ve been using it for costume storage, which, in my opinion, establishes squatter’s rights.
And I would like to know why everyone has been discussing my furniture without consulting its stylist.
LET’S START AT THE BEGINNING
Several weeks ago, I placed a few wigs on the chair.
And some costumes.
And a feather boa.
And possibly a pair of boots.
Fine. Seventeen wigs, four costumes, three jackets, and a sequined cape.
I was organizing.
Then The Ruler installed a suggestion box.
Naturally, I submitted a suggestion.
“Additional costume storage and improved dressing room lighting.”
A perfectly reasonable request.
I also suggested a glitter budget.
And a full-length mirror.
and a personal assistant.
Apparently, someone decided my storage request needed a committee.
I assumed that meant funding had been approved.
THE SUGGESTION BOX SITUATION
Now, I have since learned that KimberCrim had been making what she called “administrative improvements.”
Which explains a great deal.
Somewhere between Kimberkin’s cookie election, the unauthorized dance notice, and The Ruler confiscating the suggestion box, my costume storage request became an official departmental proposal.
Someone wrote “CHAIR” under assigned personnel.
Someone else added “MULTIPLE RESPONSIBILITIES.”
And apparently, Kimberkin approved compensation of one cookie per meeting.
ONE COOKIE?
For my chair?
I’ve been doing costume changes for months, and nobody has offered me so much as a complimentary eyebrow pencil.
THE UNREQUESTED AUDITION
Then there was the dance notice.
Which I interpreted as an invitation to audition for official Kimboverse spokesperson.
An understandable mistake.
The notice mentioned performance.
I perform.
It mentioned presentation.
I am a presentation.
So I submitted my requirements.
Professional lighting.
A costume allowance.
A glitter budget.
And a designated performance area.
Under “Performance Area,” I wrote:
THE CHAIR.
Because that was where I had placed my audition wardrobe.
Apparently, someone took that as a departmental assignment.
I don’t know who.
But I would like to speak to them about the lighting.
THE MISSING CHAIR
Yesterday, Kimbercoon stormed into my dressing room carrying a clipboard.
She demanded to know where the chair was.
I pointed toward the corner.
She looked.
Then she looked at me.
“WHERE?”
I pointed again.
“THERE.”
She stared at the enormous pile of wigs and costumes.
“THAT’S NOT A CHAIR.”
I removed a feather boa.
Then a jacket.
Then three wigs.
Then the sequined cape.
And there it was.
The chair.
Right where I’d put it.
Kimbercoon made a noise I can only describe as a raccoon discovering its own tax audit.
“YOU MEAN I’VE BEEN INVESTIGATING A COSTUME PILE?!”
Excuse me.
A professionally curated wardrobe collection.
There’s a difference.
THE FINAL INVESTIGATION
Naturally, everyone was summoned.
The Ruler arrived with the confiscated suggestion box.
KimberCrim arrived with a revised organizational chart.
Kimberkin brought cookies.
Kimbopausal demanded to know who had authorized the thermostat.
And Kimbercoon brought approximately forty-seven pages of evidence.
The Ruler began reviewing the paperwork.
My original request was still there.
“Additional costume storage.”
Then KimberCrim’s amended suggestion.
“Create a committee to oversee administrative improvements.”
Then Kimberkin’s handwritten note.
“Committee meetings require snacks.”
Then the dance notice.
Then my audition requirements.
And finally, an official-looking personnel form.
EMPLOYEE NAME: THE CHAIR
CURRENT POSITION: MULTIPLE
ASSIGNED DEPARTMENT: TO BE DETERMINED
COMPENSATION: ONE COOKIE PER MEETING
Someone had even stamped it APPROVED.
The Ruler stared at the paperwork.
“WHO APPROVED THIS?”
Nobody answered.
Then KimberCrim slowly raised her hand.
“Define approved.”
THE GREAT REVELATION
It turned out nobody had actually hired the chair.
Nobody had promoted it.
Nobody had even moved it out of my dressing room.
The Ruler’s suggestion box had collected a series of unrelated requests.
KimberCrim had rearranged them into official-looking proposals.
Kimberkin had added a cookie compensation policy.
My audition paperwork had supplied the chair’s name and responsibilities.
And Kimbopausal had interpreted the resulting department assignment as a solution to the thermostat problem.
The mysterious personnel file?
A collection of everyone’s paperwork stapled together.
The chair committee?
A meeting that nobody realized they were attending.
And the instruction reading “DO NOT INFORM KIMBERCOON”?
KimberCrim admitted she’d added that one.
“Because she investigates everything.”
Kimbercoon gasped.
“I KNEW THERE WAS A CONSPIRACY!”
The Ruler looked at her.
“There was no conspiracy.”
Kimbercoon pointed at the paperwork.
“THEN WHAT DO YOU CALL THAT?!”
The Ruler closed the folder.
“Administrative incompetence.”
Honestly, I thought that was a little harsh.
My costume request had been perfectly clear.
THE FINAL RULING
The Ruler immediately dissolved the committee.
All unauthorized departments were eliminated.
The chair’s employment was terminated.
Kimberkin demanded severance cookies.
KimberCrim requested permission to establish an appeals department.
Denied.
Kimbopausal was informed that furniture would no longer be assigned thermostat responsibilities.
And Kimbercoon officially closed her investigation.
Although she insisted on writing:
“CASE SOLVED. EVERYONE IS SUSPICIOUS.”
As for me?
I finally got my chair back.
Technically, I’d never lost it.
But that’s beside the point.
Unfortunately, The Ruler also rejected my glitter budget.
My lighting request.
My personal assistant.
And my proposal for an official Costume Queen dressing room expansion.
Which brings me to one final question.
If the suggestion box was supposed to improve the Kimboverse…
WHY HASN’T ANYONE APPROVED MY MIRROR?!
⸻
END OF CHAPTER SEVEN
END OF VOLUME ONE: THE TROUBLE WITH RULES
-Kimbo, Costume Queen
P.S. I have submitted a new proposal for an executive ottoman. It has excellent leadership potential.
P.P.S. The Ruler has banned suggestion boxes.
Apparently, we’re calling that progress.
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