Clancy
was always exactly five minutes late.
He
was late to work, late getting home, late in all points in-between.
Nobody
bothered to complain about it anymore, it had become another facet of
life. In fact, being five minutes (and always exactly five minutes)
late, Clancy was more dependable than most people who considered themselves
punctual.
So
everyone around him, even though he was opposed to others making allowances
for him, set their clocks back five minutes and Clancy was never late
again.
Until
...
Clancy,
long feared to be a bachelor for life (by those that fear such things),
found a woman and they were married after a brief courtship.
Clancy
knew that after years of loneliness living with another person would
be an adjustment, and he accepted that marriages survive on compromise.
Even if one party compromises and the other party gets their way.
Anyway.
When
his new bride pointed out that if he was always late, perhaps he should
set his watch five minutes ahead. She was convinced that there was no
problem a person could have that wasn’t psychological (to some
degree) and couldn’t be overcome by a shear force of will. This
philosophy, foreign to Clancy, was at least exotic enough to chance
and adopt himself.
That
night, Clancy adjusted his watch.
On
the following day, everything went wrong.
Clancy
was mildly annoyed when his image did not appear in the mirror, or the
toilet did not flush, or the shower had no water.
But
he felt his slight stubble, smelled his pits and decided he was at least
presentable. The urine could mellow without much chance of the world
ending.
Clancy
went off to work, leaving his watch on the night stand since it didn’t
seem to be working either.
As
he walked to work, faces that usually smiled at him made no signs of
recognition, hands that normally waved remained stiffly at their sides
and Clancy’s friendly HELLO!s went unanswered.
By
now Clancy was bothered.
When
his secretary didn’t say anything to him, Clancy jumped up and
down in frustration, repeatedly screaming HEY! at the top of his lungs.
Nothing.
She
continued with her work like he wasn’t even there.
Greatly
discouraged, he retired to his office, left the door open, slumped into
his chair and picked up the phone.
The
line was dead.
Clancy
recessed further into his chair and closed his eyes, counting from one
to ten and back again, breathing deeply and trying to focus on what
could be happening.
Then:
“Good
morning, Clancy,” his secretary said normally.
He
smiled and opened his eyes, convinced the farce was over, but:
She
was talking to the empty space in front of her desk where he had been
standing moments ago.
“Clancy?
Calm down. Why are you jumping up and down? There’s no need to
shout!”
She
followed the path he had taken to his desk with her eyes. She shrugged
and went back to work.
As
she did so, the phone Clancy had never bothered to hang up, burst forth
with a dial tone. One he could hear even after he replaced the receiver.
He
glanced at the clock on the wall. He had been here for five minutes,
if ... five minutes ...
He
looked for his watch, remembering he hadn’t worn it this morning,
and bolted out the door.
The
lights were on in his apartment and the shower had been running for
some time.
Just
as he located his watch, an invisible force slammed him from the side,
breaking his legs and shattering his head against the ground.
Much
more than five minuets later Clancy’s dead body was found.
The
doctors were puzzled as to how a man could have been hit by a car going
40 mph in his own bedroom.
