Tell it to the Jeweler

That’s what my friend Patti used to say to her boyfriend whenever they had a fight.

But I actually had my jeweler (well, he’s not really mine, personally) telling me a few things when I went to have a watch battery replaced. Let me explain: I love watches and I have a lot of `em. Some are 20 years old, others are from accessory sales at magazines I used to work for, others I picked up on the street for $5 and then spent $40 replacing the strap. Others are from my friends at HSN (I love my Melania Trump watch, in no small part because of her sales pitch, which Jeanne, Wiggles and I watched while on a conference call from our respective beds. Melania said, “You can weah to meeting, to school, and out with youh husbond for deenah.” Who could resist that kind of pitch?) Anyway, this means that I am in a constant state of replacing batteries. And it also means that wherever my job is, one of the first things I need to do is find a jeweler I can get to, fast, on my lunch hour. And yes, I have found that person in the area where my (relatively new) job is located.

Our relationship was tame until a few days ago when he clearly recognized me as I came through the door, jingling with a new watch (my sister-in-law bought it for me at a store near Boston called Frugal Fanny’s – more on that at a later date) that had to have links removed. This gentleman is named Chris, and he was wearing a little porkpie hat with earflaps, even though it was 50 degrees out and he’s inside. He has a voice that’s so loud, it’s like Harvey Fierstein had an uncontrollable urge to wield a tiny screwdriver on people’s crappy watches and bracelets.

“HELLO!” he growled as I came in. “WHAT DO YOU HAVE TODAY, DARLING?”

I showed him my watch and he got to work while the owner, who’s middle eastern and definitely NOT from Harvey’s tribe, if you know what I mean, was drinking a large Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and smoking a cigarette in the doorway. As Chris revved up, he just stared into his coffee and shook his head.

“SO WHAT’S NEW?” Chris asked. Without a pause for my answer, he shared, “I WAS UP TILL 3 LAST NIGHT. WAIT TILL YOU HEAR. I SAW A WATERBUG IN MY APARTMENT.”

I made the appropriate grunt.

“WAIT! I’VE LIVED IN THE SAME APARTMENT FOR 36 YEARS. I’VE SEEN ABOUT 6 WATERBUGS, WHICH ISN’T BAD.”

Grunt.

“WAIT! SO IT’S 3AM, I’VE DONE THE DISHES. MY APARTMENT’S SPICK & SPAN. YOU COULD EAT OFF THE FLOOR! I’M TALKING TO MY FRIEND JOE AND WAIT! I WAS WATCHING THE GRAMMYS, THAT I HAD RECORDED.”

Grunt.

“AND – WAIT! THE GRAMMYS – WHO ARE THOSE PEOPLE, ANYWAY? THEY’RE NOT MUSICIANS. THEY’RE THUGS.”

Then I did it. I looked at my watch. I had to! I had to get back to work!

“AND THEN. WAIT! LET ME SEE THOSE WEDDING RINGS! DARREN, DID YOU SEE THESE RINGS?”

Darren grinds out his cigarette, walks over. “Asscher cut?” he mumbles.

“Yes,” I say.

“WOW, YOUR HUSBAND HAS SOME TASTE! WE’RE GONNA CLEAN THEM FOR YOU. I KNOW YOU HAVE TO GET BACK TO WORK BUT WAIT! I’M ALMOST DONE.”

With a sigh, Darren takes my rings and disappears into the back. I immediately hear the heavenly whir of the sonic cleaner. Chris decides he needs to compensate by turning up his volume a little louder, which he does, no problem.

“SO I SEE THE WATERBUG. I SCREAM AND TELL JOE I HAVE TO GO. I TAKE OFF MY SLIPPER TO KILL IT, AND WAIT! THE WATERBUG’S ALREADY DEAD! SOMEHOW, IT DIED BEFORE I COULD KILL IT! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? WAIT! YOUR WATCH IS READY! DARREN, HURRY! SHE’S GOTTA GET BACK TO WORK!”

The whirring comes to a halt. Darren re-appears, hands me back the rings.

“WAIT!” I say to Chris (and Darren, who’s miserably loitering nearby). “THESE LOOK GORGEOUS!”

Now the two of us are companionably screaming at each other.

‘I KNOW! ENJOY YOUR AFTERNOON! SEE YOU SOON!” Chris says happily.

I can’t WAIT for my next dead battery so we can have another talk.

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3 responses to “Tell it to the Jeweler

  1. Hot Pants, Hot Pants, Hot Pants, Melania Trump sells on QVC, not HSN.
    Your jeweler sounds like a true diamond in the rough, if you know what I mean.

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