This is a story about a man named Harold Crick, and his wristwatch. Harold Crick was a man of infinite numbers, endless calculations, and remarkably few words, and his wristwatch said even less. Every weekday for twelve years, Harold would brush each of his 32 teeth, 76 times. 38 times back and forth, 38 times up and down. Every weekday for 12 years, Harold would tie his tie in a single Windsor knot, instead of the double, thereby saving up to 43 seconds. His wristwatch thought the single Windsor made his neck look fat, but said nothing. Every weekday for 12 years, Harold would run at a rate of nearly 57 steps per block for 6 blocks, barely catching the 8:17 Kronecker bus. His wristwatch would delight in feeling the crisp wind rushing over its face. And every weekday for 12 years, Harold would review 7.134 tax files as a senior auditor for the Internal Revenue Service… only taking a 45.7 minute lunch break, and a 4.3 minute coffee break, timed precisely by his wristwatch. Beyond that, Harold lived a life of soltitude. Harold would walk home alone. He would eat alone. And at precisely 11:13 every night, Harold would go to bed alone, placing his wristwatch to rest on the night stand beside him. That was, of course, before Wednesday. On Wednesday, Harold’s wristwatch changed everything.
Stranger Than Fiction, Karen “Kay” Eiffel