Monday, March 24, 2014
To the Parents of (Insert Name Here)
Today your son
will be coming home
with a failing grade.
I’m so sorry
that your son
our rigorous curriculum.
As the Dean of Students
I recommend that your son
in the tutoring program
graciously offered by
the successful students of
Gloucester High School’s
National Honors Society.
This will take place in the library
on the second floor
after schoolat precisely 2:10.
on behalf of the entire faculty,
we send your family our regards
during this time,
as well as our deepest apologies
regarding your son
inability to achieve
the grades necessary
to receive a passing grade.
All my sincerity,
Mr. D. E. CeptiveDean of Students
Monday, March 10, 2014
The Turning of the Hands
It’s an important job, though not everyone sees it that way. A twenty-four hour job, no pay, no benefits, no nothing really, besides for the systematic ticking of the long minute hand and then, every hour, the click of the hour hand.
You start off small, as it should be. As I said, it’s an important job, so you have to prove yourself before you get onto the big stuff. You’ve got to work your way to the top.
For myself, I began inside of a child’s watch. I was in charge of the mouse’s arms, and had to control it along with the time. The boy got it at a theme park. I was new to the job and, if I do say so myself, was very good at it. I worked flawlessly, tirelessly, day after day, even after the boy lost me in the back of his mother’s car.
Doesn’t it get boring? you might ask. And you wouldn’t be all that wrong. There is a sense of tedium to it, I suppose. Second by second, minute by minute, and hour by hour, the days repeat. And repeat. And repeat…
But let’s not forget about potential promotions! As I said, I began in a child’s wristwatch, and while I don’t mean to boast about my accomplishments (of which there are many), I probably should inform you that I now reside in a rather nice-looking, foot-long in diameter clock hung up in the front of a college classroom. I’m an important asset to the class. At any given moment, you’d be sure to see an exhausted student, gazing up at me, hoping that I’ll show a time that is close to the end of the class. Without fail, I give them the exact right time, down to the second. I do believe that another promotion is due soon. I’ve done my job here for exactly 5 years, 301 days, 6 hours, 22 minutes, and 15 seconds... 16 seconds… 17… 18… 19…20…
I haven’t slipped up once.
There’s a danger, you know, to making a mistake. If you ever hear a person exclaim, “Where has the time gone?” and you look up to see that, indeed, it has appeared to have passed rather quickly, you can be sure that this is the fault of some overzealous newcomer recently put into that particular clock. There are also times when it seems to be treading through mud. It happens often, if a worker is becoming bored with his situation. This usually lasts only for a few hours before the worker remembers how important his job is. Sometimes, though, the worker never clicks out of it, and he stops for extended periods of time. This is a problem.
There was a time, long ago, of one particular worker. He was quite the role model for the rest of us. Started in a measly pocket watch and, within a decade, resided in the clock at Big Ben Tower. He was good at his job, great even, until the day that he decided to stop.
The city went into mayhem. Time itself froze. It remained that moment—three seconds past midnight—for five weeks. Crops no longer grew, families starved, people were in a panic. This is event is not documented because it was too dark to write. So, while it might not be in your history books, it is nevertheless true.
Then, suddenly, after over a month of this madness, the clock started again. The people—the few that were left, anyway--rejoiced. There was no explanation as to why it had stopped in the first place. All that we knew was that, when it started again, there was a new worker who resided in the clock.