Seconds

              “That’s going to be a problem.”
         “What is?”  Reed made a quick survey of the room to see what Perry could have possibly been talking about.  There was a chair, a plastic potted palm tree complementing either side of every doorway (Reed’s mother always liked to point out how nice they looked this far north), and the standard fluorescent lights.  It seemed like any other lobby Reed had entered with in his thirty-two years.  Confused, he looked down to see Perry looking up.
         “There are seconds on that clock.”  Sure enough, plastered up on the wall directly across from the front doors was a large, black rectangle.  Its neon numbers aided the average Joe to the time of day.  And it did display seconds, which seemed handy for an always-on-the-go society.
         Still not understanding the problem, Reed replied with, “So, there are seconds on my watch.”
         “But yours is a face clock.  This is digital.”
         “So?”
         “So!  There is this thing, there, forever in the corner of my eye, flashing, literally ever second.”
         “Don’t let it bother you so much.  We are only going to be here for a few minutes.  Just until Stan comes down from his office.”
         “Well, still ---” Perry trailed off staring up at the clock.  “Look at the size of those numbers too.  They must be half a foot!”
         “I wouldn’t say they were that big.”
         “Four inches at least.  That’s what’s wrong with society, everybody’s blind!  Our generation sat too close to the TV growing up, I say.”
         Reed uncomfortably adjusted the bifocals on the bridge of his crooked nose.  He was the first in his family to need glasses and what Perry had just accused was probably the truth in his case.
         “Does your watch tick?”
         “What’s that?”
         “Does your watch tick?”
         “I never really ---” 
         Perry grabbed Reed’s thin left wrist and held it up to his ear.  He nodded, stating, “It does.”
         Reed took his hand back and placed both in his pockets.  He began to whistle, pitifully, but stopped as soon as Perry began to speak.
         “I could never do it.”
         “Never do what?”
         “Work in a clock shop.”
         “Why would you ---”
         “All the ticking, different chimes, different volumes, different speeds.  Nowadays we’d have to supply these digital types too.  Their neon flashing would drive me nuts.”
         “Uh-huh.  I wonder what’s keeping Stan.”
         “We have been here for 7 minutes and 34 seconds.”
          “Jeez, you are the only person I know that could spend this much time harping about nothing!”
         “I’m sorry, I know.  Let’s talk about something else.”
         “Good.”
         “Good.”
Perry tapped his foot at the rate of the seconds.  “My uncle had a clock shop.”
         Reed sighed, “Is that the one you threw a party for when his business went bankrupt?”
         “That’s the one.”
         “Maybe you didn’t like his clock shop because you didn’t like your uncle.”
         “No, I didn’t like my uncle because I didn’t like his clock shop.”
         “We are still talking about clocks, you know.”
         “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  Poor Stan.”
         “Why?”
         “You know how unimaginative companies are.  They probably have one of these clocks in every room.”
         Giving up on his change of subject hope, Reed humored him, “True, but you’d probably get used to it after a while.  Stan’s been here for a couple of weeks and he hasn’t mentioned it.”
         Perry nodded, “Perhaps you’re right.  Personally I would never get over it, but Stan was always a better man than I.
         The two men turned at the noise of someone trampling down stairs.  The door to the stairwell opened and Stan appeared.  His blazer was draped over one arm while both were filled with a brown cardboard box. 
         “Hey Stan, what took you so long?”
         Perry looked up at the clock, “We better beat it.  The buffet turns to dinner prices in 17 minutes and 8 seconds.”
         Stan looked disheveled as he limped towards them, having only one shoe on.  He handed the box to Reed and took his other shoe out of it.
         “What’s this?”
         “Did you get canned?”
         “I quit.”
         “Why?  You’ve been raving about how this was your dream job.”
         Ignoring the query, Stan trudged halfway across the room.  Perry and Reed watched as he dragged a chair along with him until he was position right across from the doors.  He climbed up on it so he was eye to eye to the blinking digits.  With shoe in hand Stan beat the rectangle until it was unrecognizable.  He got down from the chair and scooped up the plastic fragments and deposited them with their brothers already in the cardboard box.
         Stan sighed with relief; “Let’s get out of here before they call security.”