My first alarm clock was small and round. It stood on four stubby legs and wore two brass bells on top. I bought it because I figured that was what an alarm clock should look like. It worked fine – but it was not long before I beat it to death with a shoe.
I did that because it failed to wake me for an important meeting.
My second clock was a sturdier affair. The frame was forged from high tensile steel and its face crafted from the same bullet proof glass used in fighter jets. It didn’t last long either, though it took more than a shoe to kill it.
My third clock was a radio alarm. When I took it out of the box, I did not recall it having a snooze button, but I suspect the little guy sprouted one spontaneously after seeing the remains of his peers scattered about the bedroom floor. Though the button saved its life on many a morning – it also made me late for an important meeting so I gave it the shoe.
My last and final alarm was an app on my cell phone. Having the foresight to know that if the alarm kept sounding, I would destroy the phone, but also aware that a snooze button would cost me my job – I hacked the application code and added an ingenious modification.
After sounding the alarm, the app immediately apologizes and begs for forgiveness – then and only then, does it meekly raise its voice from a soothing whisper to a gentle nag. It reassures me there is no reason to get out of bed, that my calendar is clear and no meetings are scheduled. Once I accept this, it continues in a soft persuasive voice to suggest that perhaps I should consider going to work anyway, just in case someone might want to talk to me.
Of course this is subterfuge, but is deceit not the very thing that lubricants the skids of office politics? What better way to prepare for a day of worthless meetings?
But I am retired now and have no reason to get up… with one exception.
After I have forgotten to roll the trash cart out to the road on Tuesday evening, I am woken every Wednesday morning at 5:22 am, by a soft, soothing voice, that ever so gently urges me out of my slumbers to greet the garbage truck.