Picture this. You walk into the morning lecture hall, Red Bull in your hand, whiskey on your breath, gun in your bag (because you party) and suddenly there you don’t see it: your empty chair, now occupied by some asshole who isn’t you. “Not me?” you think to yourself. “But I’m not not me.” Surely this can’t be right. Yeah, none of the seats in whatever class this is have been assigned but, come on, you’ve been sitting in that exact same chair for months now. It’s yours. Except for now. Now it’s theirs. What do you do?
First, pity the thief. It clearly couldn’t have been easy for them being raised by parents who were siblings. In comparison, you’ve had it easy, never having to deal with the social stigma or the webbed feet. Poor bastard has probably never been to a public swimming pool because of his Daffy Duckitis. You can’t really get angry at a person like that, the same way you can’t get mad at an old, incontinent cat constantly pissing itself, then rolling around in the piss. Also, it occasionally licks its piss. That’s this person right now.
So, instead of confronting them, try a little psychological manipulation (it’s not just for your mom convincing you to give up on your dreams of becoming a musician.) Try walking up to the seat pirate and congratulating them for having the guts to sit in the Murder Chair. “The what chair?” they’ll ask, even though what they really want to know is how does it feel to be able to wear sandals in public. “Oh, didn’t you know?” you’ll then say. “Yeah, someone was totally murdered in this chair a few years back. Pretty grizzly stuff. Some crazy guy removed their entire spine through their nostrils with a pair of barbecue tongs.” You’re of course free to ad-lib this part as you see fit.
See, this approach is absolutely genius because even if they don’t believe you, they won’t confront you about it. Who would make up a story like that? A crazy person, that’s who. Better not say anything that’d set them off. Even better to get as far away from them as possible. As far away from YOUR chair.
But, if, by some miracle, the story of the Campus Despiner doesn’t scare them off, you’ll have to bring out the big guns. No, not the one in your bag that only shoots vodka. Since you can’t claim ownership of the seat because that would make you a dick, introduce yourself as its pimp. “Oh yeah, this little baby is my best earner,” you’ll say, remembering to stroke the chair erotically. “Good ol’ Wooden Wilma. Can take up to 5 guys at once. Her price is $50 an hour but if you don’t want to use a condom, that’ll be another $10.” Hopefully, this will freak them out more than the results of their home DNA test, causing them to run and letting you regain your throne. You’d better piss on it to make sure no one even thinks of taking it, though.