TIME PIECES

by Jeff Collignon

For his 50th birthday, Harold’s wife presented him with a wrist watch. While it was a lovely watch, Harold have never owned - or ever wanted to own - a personal timepiece. There was something about wearing a tiny machine which counted away the seconds of his life Harold found troubling.
Despite these feelings, Harold managed to manufacture a suitable display of gratitude, or at least enough to satisfy his wife.
It was only after his wife had gone to bed, and left Harold on the couch in front of the TV, that he had time to contemplate the full import of this gift.
Was Emily trying to tell him something?
She knew he’d never worn a watch.
So why now? Why this birthday?
Was she, in her own circumspect way, letting him know his time was running out, that he should begin keeping tract of the dwindling minutes and hours of his life.
Was that what she was trying to tell him?
Harold looked at the gleaming face of his gift. He watched the second hand count out thirty seconds before he carefully unstrapped the watch and set it on the coffee table in front of him. He leaned back on the couch and tried to decide if he felt thirty seconds older.

“Where’s your watch?” Emily was at the sink. Harold was at the counter with a cup of coffee.
“I must have forgotten it.” Harold raised the cup to his lips.
“You don’t like it,” Emily said, in that peculiar vocabulary of the long married.
Harold was familiar with this vernacular. He knew this was not a statement.
“Of course, I do,” he answered, and started out of the room to retrieve his gift. “I love it.”

It took Harold 22 minutes and 15 seconds to drive from home to work. It took another 11 minutes and 36 seconds to park the car and take the elevator to the third floor to his office.
Once seated behind his desk, Harold marveled at the amount of time he had wasted in the commute to work.
He did this every day, five days a week. 33 minutes, almost 34, day in and day out. Harold suddenly paused.
It wasn’t just 33 minutes, almost 34, but 66 minutes, almost 68.
He had to drive home!
Harold was stunned when he calculated the amount of time he wasted each year.
279 hours.
Eleven days and fifteen hours!
He’d been working at Ackerman & Loyal Account Services, LTD for 16 years.
Harold did a quick calculation.
He fell back in stunned disbelief as he contemplated the numbers.
4464 hours, 186 days, over half a year spent going to and from work.
Before he could fully comprehend the magnitude of waste, Phillip Loyal appeared in his doorway.
“You all right, Harold?”
“Fine.” Harold manufactured a smile. “What can I do for you, Phillip.”
Phillip stepped into the office and opened a folder. “I wanted to go over these figures with you.”
Harold glanced at his watch.
“There seemed to be some major discrepancies in your numbers from last year. I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

Phillip left the office 58 minutes and 36 seconds later. Harold realized it was a segment of time he would never be able to retrieve. He was older by almost an hour and he couldn’t remember a word Phillip had said.
His life was dwindling away. Emily had been right!
Harold’s glance dropped to the timepiece strapped to his wrist. He watched the movement of the second hand as it shifted around the face of the watch, counting out the moments, devouring his life second by second.

Harold arrived home at 5:47. Emily was in the kitchen.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” said Emily
Harold bit back the urge to ask how many and went into the bedroom to change.
He hung up his suit, pulled on a pair of jeans and sweat shirt and managed to make it to the couch by 5:58. The news would start in 2 minutes. Harold counted it out.
They ate at 6:22 and were done by 6:54.
Harold managed to avoid his watch while they cleaned up the kitchen.
“How was work?”
“It was okay.”
“I saw Sue today,” Emily said, as she passed a plate to Harold. “I guess she and Tom are actually going to go through with it.”
Harold slid the last plate into the rack. “How long have they been married?” He closed the door and started the dish washer machine.
“Oh, Jeez, I don’t know. A long time.” Emily leaned against the counter. “Seems a shame, after all that time, that they can’t work things out.”
“How much time?”
Emily looked at him.
“I was just wondering.” Harold shrugged.
“Well, I don’t really know how many years they’ve been married. All I know is people shouldn’t be allowed to walk away from their commitments that easily.” She threw her dishcloth on the counter and left the kitchen.
It was 7:26.

On Saturday morning, over their lawn mowers, Harold had a 17 minute conversation with his neighbor Derrick about the quality of time.
“Far as I can see, time doesn’t much matter,” said Derrick, as he fiddled with the throttle on his 8.5 hp Jacobsen. “It’s all arbitrary. Just a man made numerical value to chronicle the passing moments.”
“I don’t agree with you. I think time is definite and finite, and each moment carries an intrinsic importance, which, if we didn’t designate a value, would be lost.”
“This your version of This is the First Day of My Life, Harold,” Derrick chuckled.
“It’s more than days, Derrick, it’s every passing second is eating away at the very core of our existence.”
“Jesus, Harold, when was the last time you got laid?”
Harold didn’t accept Derrick’s inquiry as being rhetorical, but by the time he answered his words were drowned beneath the roar of his neighbors lawn mower.

Harold discovered if he shaved while he showered, he could cut almost a full 3 minutes from his morning routine. He could pick up another 42 seconds if he didn’t bother toasting his morning bagel, this time saver was two fold, it also precluded buttering the bagel, 16 seconds.
Over the next week, Harold managed to cut 7 hours and 38 seconds from his routine, and he knew he could do even better. He had come to realize his life was filled with nonessential moments. Wasted time.
Time better spent on more fruitful endeavors.

“...and I have to tell you, Harold, I’ve been a little disappointed in the quality of your work lately.” Phillip paused to look across his desk.
6 minutes, 47 seconds.
Harold nodded.
“You need to reapply yourself, Harold. Our work here at Ackerman & Loyal is essential to the economic viability of our city. You’ve been a valued part of our organization for over sixteen years now, and I hate to see a few bad months jeopardize that relationship. Consider this a wake-up call, Harold.” Phillip smiled. “Just a gentle reminder that we all have to do our share.”
Harold nodded agreeably.
Phillip seemed slightly disappointed with Harold’s response, but rose to his feet and offered his hand.
Harold shook Philip’s hand again. It was the second time he had done it. 3 seconds, 6 total. Complete waste of time and motion.

Harold stopped at Sports Authority on his way to work Monday morning. The stopwatch was $44.99. It was more than Harold had planned on spending but it was essential to his experiment. He needed a timepiece with more precision than his wrist watch offered.

“How you doing today, Harold?” asked Bill Anson from Marketing.
“Pretty good, and you?” Harold replied generously.
“Not bad.” Bill leaned against the side of the elevator. “Little tired. Suse and I went to Cindy’s dance recital last night.”
“Really, how was that?”
“It was good. She looked great, but it lasted forever. How’s Emily doing?”
“Fine, just fine.”
“Good to hear.” Bill took a step forward as the elevator came to a stop. “Give her my best.” Bill paused to look over his shoulder. “And you have a good day now.” He grinned and exited the elevator.
Harold clicked the stop watch. 18 seconds wasted on superfluous conversation. Harold took out his notebook and recorded the time. He put the notebook away, recalibrated the stop watch, and stepped off the elevator. He saw Dave Narden coming down the hall.
“Hey, Harold...”
Harold hit the stop watch.
“...how’s it going?”

At the end of the day Harold sat at his desk and went over the figures. It worked out to 2 hours, 13 minutes, and 38 seconds of non essential conversation.
Talk for no other reason than to hear the sound of one’s own voice

“How was your day?”
“Good.” Harold removed his tie as he opened the refrigerator to grab a beer.
“You talk to Phillip.”
“Yep.” Harold took a sip and began to remove his shirt as he started towards the stairs.
“How’d that go?”
“Good.” Harold held the beer with his teeth as he unbuckled his pants. By the time he hit the bedroom, his pants were at his knees, his shirt was off, and he’d drunk a quarter of the beer.
Two minutes, thirty eight seconds, twelve seconds better than yesterday. He rewarded himself with a hands-on drink from the beer.

It was Friday night, their special night. Emily was in bed waiting. Harold was brushing his teeth and urinating, an eleven second procedural saver.
“Wow, that was quick,” Emily said in surprise, as Harold appeared in the doorway.
Harold smiled as he moved to the bed. He undid the tie of his pajama bottoms as he lifted Emily’s nightgown.
“You’re very aggressive tonight.” Emily grinned. “I like that,” she giggled.
Harold knelt between her thighs and positioned himself.
“Harold, maybe you should...” was as far as Emily got before Harold shifted to the side and entered her.
“Harold!” Emily protested. “I’m not ready!”
Harold hesitated, then decided a response would only lead to more useless conversation. He began to move. He managed to ejaculate after 6 thrusts, 4 better than last time. He glanced at the stop watch in the hand he held above Emily’s head. 2 minutes, 46 seconds, 18 seconds better than last Friday.
He rolled onto his side and tucked the stop watch beneath his pillow.
He heard Emily speaking, but couldn’t afford to give her time. He closed his eyes and was asleep in 1 minute and 22 seconds.
Harold dreamed about clocks, huge sparkling numbered faces, smiling at him as they waved their tiny second hands in joyful appreciation of Harold’s timeless accomplishments.

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TIME PIECES