Several years ago, the self-winding 1950s Movado watch
That I inherited from my father (who was born on this day in 1923)
Went through the wash.
A colorful tour of Chicago's oldest and dustiest watch-repair shops
Resulted in a compromise-conversion to battery power,
Which worked fine for a couple of years,
Until the hands fell off.
I'm serious.
An in-law in Des Moines told me about a jewelry shop there,
In a strip mall, next to a Bail Bond Pro,
That fixes stuff well, and cheap.
So I took it there.
Almost a year and a half ago.
Every three months I call the guy for a status update.
The gears are corroded, and he's cleaning them.
Three more months.
Good news: "The company that sells the part we need
said they are not positive that they don't have the part."
Three more months.
Still working on those darn gears.
I just called again, for maybe the sixth time.
I'm David Murray.
I have a Movado watch in there?
I'm from Chicago?
Do you remember me?
"Yes, I remember you."
Well, could you give me a status update on the watch?
"It just runs and stops, runs and stops."
Do you still have hope that you might fix it?
"Yep, I'm still tinkering with it."
Should I call back again in three months?
"That sounds good."
Dad's not in a hurry, I guess.
So why should I be?
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