Tick. Tick. Tick.
The clock keeps a constant count on the seconds going by during the day. It’s the loudest and most incessant noise in the otherwise quiet office. The receptionist tries not to notice the clock but the closer it gets to five p.m., the more the ticking feels like a countdown to the end of her working week.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The receptionist reaches for a ballpoint pen and clicks it open. The small noise breaks the metronome of the clock. She notices the break, smiles slightly and clicks the end of the pen again. When she hears the pattern stutter once more, her smile becomes a little brighter. She begins to play a game with the clock, waiting for the second hand to make its move before she counterstrikes.
Tick. click! Tick. click!
A new rhythm begins to develop, quicker, more strongly punctuated. While the original beat was a heavy toll, like a death march, this new one felt lighter; unlike the march of time, this new pattern is of her choosing. Empowered, she recreates it again.
Tick. click! click! Tick. click! click!
Fun and jaunty, she decides. After a moment, she shifts again.
Tick. Tick. click! Tick. click! click! Tick. Tick.
Suddenly, her little workspace becomes a place of opportunity and untapped potential. The clack of her fingers on the computer keys, the hum of the printer, the dialing of the fax machine all add dimension and depth to the beat she builds. She abides by no set rules as she creates, adding and discarding sounds and actions at her pleasure. She’s absorbed in timing the whoosh of shuffling paper to the building tempo when her boss sticks his head out of the office. This observer isn’t in the know and doesn’t understand that his generally quiet and dutiful worker is in her own little world.
“Ahem.” The symphony comes to an abrupt stop as her boss clears his throat.
“While I appreciate your enthusiasm, it’s time to call it a day. Have a good weekend!”
Checking the clock on the wall, she’s astonished. Quicker than she would have thought possible, time has flown and it is indeed the end of the day. As she gathers her purse and leaves the office she glances at the clock on the wall, vowing a rematch for next Friday.
She’s still feeling lighthearted when she walks in through her own front door.
“Hi honey! How was your day?”
This question, one she encounters just about every day, has a different answer today:
Inspired by JoAnn’s post on clock month. Have a great weekend everyone!