I am visiting his office. He is sitting in his wooden wheeled office chair, but he has brought it out from behind the desk. I am in a plain wooden chair facing him a couple of feet away. I have my hand on a gray upholstered office chair on wheels which has a kind of handle on the back made with large buttons like one would find on an overcoat. I am unconsciously running my fingers across the row of buttons.
"You can't do that!" my friend says "It's a copyright violation". He is talking about my moving the chair my hand is on. He is insisting that everything in his office is covered by copyright, and my moving his chair, or even touching the buttons on the back, is a copyright violation. He wants me to pay him for the privilege. He is apoplectic, his face is red, he is breathing heavily, and he is pounding his fist on his desk for emphasis. The latter is not very effective with his desk behind him.
I stand up and say "You are entitled to be paid for every word you write."
"At least we agree on that," he answers, stands up and shakes my hand. We both sit. He is now calm, but still a little huffy.
"But what I do to your office is a matter of contract law, not copyright, and we do not have a contract concerning your office furniture," I continue. He stands up, wheels his chair back behind his desk, sits down, puts his feet up on the desk, crosses his arms, harrumphes, and says "I suppose you are right."