Once upon a time, in a land not too far from where you live, there was a bank
whose outside clock was the talk of the town. Clocks usually don't cause people
to talk about them, unless they're not working right. This clock wasn't working
right at all.
The clock was a digital clock, meaning that it was the
kind of clock with large neon red numbers that glowed both day and night. You
could read the clock from an entire block away.
The clock sat prominently a few yards above the main doors
to a respected bank, right on the corner of a major intersection in town. In
some ways, the clock represented the very center of town.
One day, a few months ago, the time on the clock started
slipping backwards a few minutes. At first this didn't cause any alarm. After
all, if you are two minutes late, or two minutes early to an appointment, is
there any harm done?
But then the clock's health got even worse. Not only did
the clock slip back more than a few minutes, sometimes it would actually jump
forward an hour or two, and then jump back to being a few minutes late. It was
clear to everyone in town that this was a sick clock.
What do you do with a sick clock, though? Take it the
clockerenarian? Take it a clockpital? Visit a clocktor?
You're right. Healing a sick clock is not an easy thing to
do. First you need to find what's wrong with the clock, and then you need to
find a place that sells the particular part that needs replacing.
The bank, being a respected bank, was eager to get the
clock fixed and working again. The bank became even more eager after last
month's birthday party.
You see, a young child on the way to a birthday party
burst into tears when he looked up at the clock and realized that he was going
to be late. On that day, the clock was running about two hours fast, and the
child was in perfect time for the party. The child just thought he was late,
because who would ever doubt the time on a public clock?
And then there was the whole wedding fiasco last week. A
groom, on the way to his wedding ceremony, noticed that he was two hours early,
so he stopped off at the cybercafe to do some web surfing. When he showed up to
the ceremony two hours late, the bride and everyone else were not overjoyed to
see him.
The straw that broke the camel's back, though, was last
week when an army major was traveling through town. Being an army major, he
would regularly adjust his wristwatch to make sure it was perfectly on time.
When he saw the clock above the bank, he immediately reset his watch three hours
ahead of time. And the next morning he woke his troops at 3 AM to do their
regular 6 AM ten-mile morning run.
The troops were not amused. And so they stopped by to pay
a friendly visit to the bank manager. "Please, please, please repair the clock
above the door of your bank," they spoke in military unison. "Each one of us
would like to chip in $20 to repair the clock," they added.
The bank manager, a kindly young woman, promised that she
would do whatever she could to find a part to repair the clock. She would even
take the clock to a clockerenarian, if need be. And she had not ruled out the
possibility of driving the clock straight to the clockpital, herself. Her own
doctor had recommended some skilled clocktors that she could use when she
received the replacement part.
Until the clock was repaired, though, she decided to
switch off its electricity. For three weeks the lights on the clock were
entirely dark. And then one day a UPS truck drove up the bank with a very small
package. Inside that very small package was a very small part that made the
clock healthy again.
The town sighed a huge sigh of relief when the clock was
switched on again. And then everyone reset their watches and went on their merry
way.
Copyright © 2000 Phil Shapiro
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