Coffee Table Bumper

coffee table bumper
    coffee table
  • low table where magazines can be placed and coffee or cocktails are served
  • (Coffee Tables) While any small and low table can be, and is, called a coffee table, the term is applied particularly to the sets of three or four tables made from about 1790; of which the latter were called 'quartetto tables'.
  • A low table, typically placed in front of a sofa
  • A coffee table, also called a cocktail table, is a style of long, low table which is designed to be placed in front of a sofa, to support beverages (hence the name), magazines, feet, books (especially coffee table books), and other small items to be used while sitting, such as coasters.
  • a mechanical device consisting of bars at either end of a vehicle to absorb shock and prevent serious damage
  • An automobile's bumper is the front-most or rear-most part, ostensibly designed to allow the car to sustain an impact without damage to the vehicle's safety systems.
  • a glass filled to the brim (especially as a toast); "we quaffed a bumper of ale"
  • A horizontal bar fixed across the front or back of a motor vehicle to reduce damage in a collision or as a trim
  • A generous glassful of an alcoholic drink, typically one drunk as a toast

All the tables at the Amtrak station cafe were taken. Tom wanted to sit alone, it was raining and he had already missed the first scheduled train that morning. Punctuality was a point of pride for Tom, but he'd have to swallow it down today. His car had been rear ended in the morning traffic jam. Driving on the 99 in Sacramento was always like this during the rain. It was usually someone else, but today was just his luck. Tom didn't care about the damage, it was an old car after all, but the administrative detail of calling the insurance company had drained his energy. The other party had accused him of not turning his lights on, a bogus claim. He'd need another coffee later. Dave wasn't happy when Tom called. With the rear bumper the way it was, he didn't trust the two hour drive. “You're killing me,” Dave said. You'll live, Tom thought of saying but instead he said, “I'm sorry. The next train won't leave until 9:40. If the morning's no good, I can wait until the afternoon. I'll let you know.” “You better do that.” Tom looked around the cafe; there was a space at one of the circular tables in the back. A woman in a beige trench coat with black hair was seated there. Tom walked over and smiled. “Do you mind if I sit here for a while?” he said. The woman looked up from her thick spiral notebook, she was drawing and had a set of color pens laid out in a silver casing on the table. She nodded without answering. Tom returned the nod, smiled, and laid his bag on the empty chair. “I'll be right back.” He took a step, stopped, and turned around. The woman was absorbed in what she was doing. She was likely a few years less than 30, likely around his own age. The Amtrak station is always is full of morning commuters. When his license was suspended, Tom took the train often to get to the Bay Area. Most of the people were on their way to San Francisco, Oakland, and the in between places like F airfield and Vacaville. Some were on their way back. The busiest days were at the beginning and tail-ends of the week, Monday and Friday. Tom liked to sit in the rear train car where they kept the lights off and asked the passengers to silence their phones. “What can I get you?” the barista said. “Just a medium coffee please.” Tom said. “Sure. You're just in luck, I have to make a fresh brew,” the barista said. Was he really in luck today? Tom thought. “Do you want a number two or three?” “What's the difference?” “The two is lighter so there's more caffeine in it.” “I'll take the two,” Tom said. “And your name?” “Sirius Black.” The barista raised an eyebrow. Tom liked giving fake names for the reactions. “Okay Sirius. I”ll have that right out.” Tom stood to the side of the line and let his eyes drift to the table where he left his bag. The woman's pen moved less fervently now. In the rush to find a seat, he hadn't looked to see what she was working on. The full set of color pens intrigued him. Now he wondered. Maybe she was an illustrator or designer hurrying to get a few concept sketches for a client later in the morning. She was smartly dressed in work clothes but was still casual in a pair of completely black Converses. Throughout his life, Tom had always run into illustrators and designers. Both of his past two girlfriends were illustrators. He did not actively seek them, they just happened to be. It was apart of his own idiosyncrasies. Like the names at the coffee counter. When they were together, Tom would spend hours on the weekend watching them work. He had converted the basement of his home into and office, which took on the nature of a studio when they moved in. Now it was an empty space and all the easels, mattes, trimmers, paints, brushes, and t-squares were gone. After the fall-out and vowing to live an austere life full of work (Tom felt easier this way) the interiors of his apartment followed suit. Seeing the woman reminded him of that life. Waiting for the fresh brew, he began to feel nostalgic. Tom sat down and looked at the pen set: blue, green, black, purple, yellow, pink, teal, many more. He leaned back away from the table, put his left ankle on his right knee, and peeked at the open page over the brim of the cup. They were the kind of childish drawings that only adults could master. Whimsical, slyly playful but laid-back. It reminded him of the Sunday cartoons—Tom always preferred the ones with clean simple lines—like a less frenetic version of Calvin and Hobbes. A girl was standing on top of a clothes pile at the center of a cluttered bedroom. Like a mountain climber, she had her hand raised triumphantly with two golden tickets held high. The words stood off to the side in plain handwritten print: “It might look like a dumping place to others, but it surely is a treasure to someone. Found two lotto tickets yesterday for $50.” Tom laughed. “I like your drawings, are they for work or yourself?” The woman looked up and smiled again, moving her fringe away from her face. She did not answer. Tom wo
Hit the road without leaving your sofa
Hit the road without leaving your sofa
IT was a case of "sofa so good" as the fastest piece of furniture in the world was parked up at Broadmead Bristol in the city centre to the astonishment of shoppers. The motorised sofa, powered by a mid-mounted unleaded A-series Mini engine, is in fact fully street legal with an MOT and Vehicle Tax Licence. The sofa car boasts a range of unusual features and made it into the Guinness Book of Records when it was clocked doing 87 mph. The driver of the couch potato machine will find a pizza pan (complete with pepperoni pizza) steering wheel, hand operated drinks-can brake 'pedal', a chocolate bar to select the four automatic gears and a knee throttle which facilitates a feet-up (or down) driving position. The front indicators are hidden inside two ornamental plant pots which come complete with a fern and a flower arrangement. The bottle-top coffee table acts as a front bumper and also at times supports a clock, housing the speedometer, a set of dodgy old videos (including The Good the Bad and the Comfy and Night of the Living Room Dead starring Peter Cushion and Sofa Loren) and a working black and white television. The sofa car was in the city to promote a new TV show for UK Horizons featuring Jeremy Clarkson.

coffee table bumper