My watch, it ain’t workin’ no more. Just stopped tickin’ one day, like it gave up on life. Used to be my favorite, shiny and fancy, made me feel like a queen. Now it just sits there, useless as a screen door on a submarine.
Tried shakin’ it, tappin’ it, even whispered sweet nothins’ to it, but nothin’. Must be somethin’ broke inside. Heard them fancy folks say it’s “automatic,” whatever that means. Sounds complicated, like fixin’ a tractor with a toothpick.
Is it worth fixin’, you think?
Don’t want to throw it away, you know? Got it from my son, bless his heart, saved up for months he did. Reminds me of him every time I see it. Even if it don’t work, it’s still pretty, somethin’ to look at.
- Maybe the spring inside, the one that makes it go, is busted? Like a rusty old gate that won’t open.
- Or maybe them little gears, all jammed up like a corn cob stuck in a pipe.
- Could be the… the whatchamacallit… the date thingy, ain’t switchin’ right. That’s what the fella at the store said once. Said it needed… lubricatin’. Sounded kinda dirty to me, but he said it’s important.
Heard tell there’s folks who fix watches, special folks who know all the insides and outs. Like doctors for watches, I reckon. But they probably charge an arm and a leg, and my arms and legs ain’t got much meat on ’em these days.
Wonder how much it’d cost to get it fixed? More than a new one? Don’t want to spend a fortune on somethin’ that might just break again. Maybe I should just ask around, see if anyone knows a fella who tinkers with watches. Might get a better deal that way.
And if they can’t fix it? Well, I guess I’ll just keep it anyway. Like I said, it’s pretty to look at. And it reminds me of my son. Sometimes, that’s all that matters, ain’t it?
They say these automatic watches, they need fixin’ every few years. Like a car needs an oil change. Never understood that. Why make somethin’ that needs so much fussin’? My old wind-up watch, it just kept on tickin’, no matter what. Simple and strong, like me.
They say you gotta send it somewhere, to a fancy place with fancy tools.
Fill out a form, tell ’em what’s wrong. Like confessin’ your sins to a priest, but for a watch. And then they give you a price, like they’re holdin’ your watch hostage. Don’t like it one bit. Wish it was simpler, like back in the day.
Heard there’s a place, a big place, with lots of watch fixers. All under one roof, like a factory. Bet they’re busy bees, fixin’ watches day and night. Probably charge a pretty penny, too.
Saw a fella once, on the TV, talkin’ about watch fixin’. Said it’s an art, a skill. Took him years to learn it. Made it sound like magic, like he could bring a dead watch back to life. Maybe he could fix mine.
Should I take it apart myself?
Try to figure it out? Nah, I’d probably just make it worse. Like tryin’ to bake a cake without a recipe. End up with a mess. Best leave it to the experts, I reckon.
So, here I am, with my broken watch. Don’t know what to do. Guess I’ll just wait a bit, see if I can find someone who can help. Someone who understands the language of watches. Someone who can make it tick again.
Maybe, just maybe, my watch will come back to life. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll remind me of my son every time I look at it, tickin’ away the time.
Tags: automatic watch, watch repair, broken watch, fixing a watch, watch service, watchmaker
