When my Mother died, I inherited her Seth Thomas clock; but it needed repair. So I put it in the hands of a local clock shop owner who assured me he could fix it. After it was in his possession an entire year, I decided I wouldn’t wait any longer.
I retrieved Seth Thomas and found another clock smith. This one didn’t wait a year to provide feedback, although he wasn’t particularly speedy. In the end, however, he fixed the clock which still runs on time today.
Last year, another clock in our possession ran amok. It refused to chime; in fact, it refused to tick. We lived with the situation for several months since we have eleven other clocks in our home and wouldn’t miss an appointment if one of them didn’t function.
But in May I took the errant timepiece to the same man who’d fixed Seth Thomas. I listed its ailments and was told it would take six to ten weeks to fix. Last week, three months later, I retrieved the clock and brought it home. I’m pleased to announce it’s in working order.
Still, what is it about clock repair people? They don’t seem to have any sense of time. They promise one deadline but ignore it. Which makes me wonder . . . Is time relevant? Do clocks enhance our lives? Are we slaves or masters of our schedules? I have no answers.
I only know people who fix clocks seem to work on a different time schedule.
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