Thursday, October 18, 2012

The Watch Saga Continues...

So, i killed my watch again... and like last time... thought it might be worthwile to see if i could get a free watch by writing a letter describing my experiences. Last time, they surprised me by just fixing up my trashed watch, (well played, Reactor Watches...) and you can read that post at this link here. I would be BLOWN AWAY if they were able to revive this disaster zone of a watch THIS time. it's a mess... i dont think anything actually works anymore. literally the only original functionality it has left is that it can strap itself to your arm... so, below is the letter (pictures included) i sent to them to try to get a free watch out of the deal...



Hello, you amazing watch-maker you...

I only assume that your incredible good looks, and scholarly wit has kept you well since the last time I destroyed one of your watches.  And while we are on that subject, rest assured: I believe that all parties can now agree that LAST time, was an isolated incident, and I don't foresee a repeat of “the tragic foosball accident”.  

Nevertheless, my apparent “psychotic-watch-murdering-nature” has been firing on all cylinders, as the surprising combination of a cracked glass (hazards of a gentleman/scholar lifestyle... which i don't really lead... But can fake it pretty well by using big gentleman-ish words like “fisticuffs”, or “Primal-beasts”), and a trip to 60ft below the surface of the Sea of Cortez seemed to have an adverse “horrible-death-like” effect on the watch.  


After many deep and profound brain things happened inside my head, I uncovered the makings of a sad truth: the thing about being in 6 atmospheres of watch-crushing-pressure... is that it crushes watches quite efficiently (it is a complex phenomenon, i know).  Or mayhaps it was the underwater kung-fu duel between my arch nemesis and I. By “nemesis” i mean “roommate”.  


Tell me you cant point me out via my superior form


While I understand that for PR reasons, you will never condone “nemesis battle” be rest assured... your legendary watch played a vital role in my eventual triumph... i mean look at my form... yeah... I’ve seen an impressive amount of Kung-Fu

But the story of your watch doesnt end with my impressive Kung-Fu skillz (which need a “z” because of its sheer prowess).  A watch of a lesser stature would have wilted at the inevitable fate of portly Cortez, and his sea sitting on it’s face.  But NAY... this watch.... (let’s name him “Nigel” for story telling effect)... Nigel held his breath... for 2 months.  that’s right... the watch was literally operating under a layer of water and then steam for another 2 months after scuba diving.  Due to the fact of Nigel’s quiet nature, and he would rarely explain anything to me (quite the roguish devil), I hypothesize that Nigel got tired of waiting for me to go on an safari, and took drastic measures to make this happen.  that should teach me the values of procrastination.  

Rest in Peace
so: here lies my beloved watch... ever the adventurer... a gentleman to the end.  this all happened about a month ago... or was it a week? in all honesty, I have lost touch with time, because i refuse to taint my adventures with Rolex’s bi-polar adopted brother: “Timex”.  this leaves me sun-dials (it is getting cloudy), and trying to intuitively judge when “Beer-O-Clock” is (Oktoberfest is really throwing me off here).   You can instantly see the plethora of psychological, fashion, and grammatical problems that have begun to enter my life since my tragic loss.

Being that you were the creators of the BEST time device to ever enter my life, what is an adventurer to do if he doesnt know when to pause his single barrel musket dueling to indulge in his glass of scotch?  How am I supposed to enter hand-to-hand combat with ruffians in a timely manner? Worst of all, i’m CONSTANTLY late for dentist appointments, and i am starting to fear for my teeth’s safety because of my disgruntled dentist.

My Time-ological fate is in your hands. As well as my teeth’s fate.

Sincerely,
William McDonald the Second, Ridiculous Gentleman In Training

Monday, September 24, 2012

A man walked into a bathroom...

Firstly, I find that the best way to perform “Damage Mitigation”, or at least to save a little face, is if I am the one who points out my underlying weirdness before everyone else figures it out for themselves.  

So, here goes: for some reason, my brain has noticed that bathrooms are like the bermuda triangle... of awkwardness.  I’m pretty sure the bathroom door is like one of those portals, but instead of Narnia being on the other side, you have just entered a dimension which will have no problems slapping your scruples in its smug little face.

Today, I walked into the bathroom/awkward-twilight-zone, and did my thing.  Upon leaving the stall, and removing my gas mask, I walked over to the sink to wash my hands for the recommended 15 seconds. which is an awkwardly long time to wash your hands for... especially in a bathroom.  It is at this point, when another poor soul walked into the awkward-zone.... and made a b-line straight for the recently vacant stall.

I understand his reasoning for choosing the handicapped stall which i just walked out of... who wouldn't want the large stall, with its plush leg room (so that people can have better leg movement?.... awkward) and its fancy metal bars on the side of the wall (so people can have something to brace themselves?.... awkward).  oh, i fully understand why he THOUGHT that stall was a good decision, but he missed one critically important X factor.... me.


What a guy ACTUALLY feels like, when he walks into that stall

As he walked by me, i was literally doing one of those slo-mo movie scenes in my head.  each step he took towards that little flimsy door that was holding back an invisible death, my brain was trying to telepathically scream: “NNNNOOOOOOOO!!!!!! DON'T DO IT!!!!! IT’S A TRAP!!!!”.  But i obviously didn't say anything, because.... well, that’s a level of awkwardness i’m just not ready for.  

When he finally did open the door, i SAW the pause in his once fluid and determined pace.  he opened the stall and actually paused as the onslaught of vaporous, willpower-testing, chemical warfare engulfed him.  i can only assume his man-pride was the only thing which helped him take the next couple of steps.  

I didnt stay long enough to hear if he threw up or not... it’s possible he could have just disintegrated, but i can only imagine that the green mile must have seemed like a longer walk.  

conclusions:
1) note to self: check the hospital reports/obituaries for the ex-co worker... see if the cops think the cause of death was manslaughter and might come after me.

2) need to spend less time thinking about bathroom things.