Messages

Carlos the Clock Broker

   â€œJimmy! Pay attention! Read back to me what I've written so far!”
   â€œOh... Um... yes, sir!” Jimmy cleared his throat and adjusted his perhaps too tightly tied tie, “Let's see here. From the beginning, sir?”
   â€œOf course from the beginning. Did you think that, for a second, there was even a possibility that I was asking you to read it from the end?”
   â€œWell I simply thought you might want me to-”
   â€œDo I pay you to do what you think I want you to do, or do I pay you to do what I think I want you to do?”
   â€œWell I guess the second...”
   â€œJimmy. That was a rhetorical question. You didn't have to answer it.”
   Carlos's torso returned to its previous facing, once again joining his legs in their apparent desire to look out the large picture window's breathtaking 20th story view of the sprawling city that stretched out in every direction. Or at least what would have been a breathtaking view had the rest of the nearby buildings been themselves less than twenty stories tall, and therefore not blocking out the otherwise existing panorama. In any event, suffice it to say that Carlos turned to face the direction opposite where Jimmy sat, disappointed in his choice of profession, and hoping for a quick end to his employer's current verbal assault.
   Carlos checked his pocket watch, an action that seemed redundant given the irrational amount of clocks adorning the walls, floor, desk, and any surface on which it's possible to cram a clock. Seemingly dissatisfied with what he saw, he snapped it shut, and dropped the small gold timepiece back into his pocket. A look of disgust overtook his countenance as he once again turned to face Jimmy.
   â€œWhat would reading from the end even entail? Reading from where I left off? I've yet to write it! That would be absurd! Do you think I am a fool, Jimmy? Do you think I would ask something like that of you? To read words that are not yet there?”
   Jimmy looked up cautiously, only to meet Carlos's malicious stare, and immediately looked back down at his paper.
   â€œWell, Jimmy? Do you think me a fool? Why do you not answer me?”
   â€œOh... um... sorry, sir. I thought it was another rhetoric-”
   â€œOnce again Jimmy. Do I pay you to do what you think... you know what? This is preposterous. Jimmy, why must you always make everything drag on? I made a simple request and you are too incompetent to even follow it!”
   Then a curious thing happened. Jimmy, possibly as a result of years spent suffering Carlos's derisive behavior, began to shake violently. He stood up suddenly, knocking the chair in which he had just been sitting over backward onto the floor.
   â€œWell, Mr. Carlos!” Jimmy pointed his finger accusingly right at Carlos's face, which was stretched in disbelief. “I don't think you're a very nice person, and I don't appreciate the way you treat me.”
   Carlos stepped backwards in shock, clutching his chest and breathing heavily.
   â€œIs that what it's like?” Carlos asked himself. “Is that what you've been doing all these years? This is how you treat other people?”
   He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do, as Jimmy stood opposite the desk, wincing and expecting his punishment. But he could never have expected what was about to happen, for just as suddenly as Jimmy had sprung from his chair, Carlos grabbed a grandfather clock and smashed it through the picture window next to which it stood. There was a very loud crash on the city street below, followed by the soft thud of Carlos, the clock broker.
THE END