The Watch Potency Principle and the Man Who Couldn’t Count to Eight

Chapter 2 from The Timepiece Whisperer of Redondo Beach

The Watch Master accepted my Venmo transfer—five grand, no questions asked. He nodded like a monk receiving an offering, commending me for “putting my money where my mouth is,” as if throwing cash at the problem proved I was spiritually ready to shed my horological demons. Then he sent me home with a single directive: return the next night with all seven of my watches arranged in one box for evaluation.

At precisely 10 p.m., under a bloated moon that cast an eerie glow across the red roof tiles of his dilapidated Redondo Beach bungalow, I stood in his living room. The Master’s pale, angular face looked freshly excavated from a tomb. He gestured for the box.

He opened it. Seven divers—six Seikos and a lonely Citizen—gleamed under the yellowed light of a hanging stained-glass lamp.

“Good,” he said, scanning the collection with the intensity of a mortician identifying a corpse. “All divers. That shows thematic restraint. You’re not a complete degenerate.”

He picked up each Seiko, held it to his eye like a jeweler, then scoffed. “You baby these. When’s the last time you actually swam? Clinton administration?”

He chuckled at his own joke, which I pretended not to hear.

His bony fingers closed around the Citizen. “Hmm. Titanium case and bracelet. The others are all on straps. This inconsistency must be clawing at your OCD like a raccoon under drywall.”

I nodded.

“Sell it,” he said flatly. “It’s feeding your misery.”

“But what about the Seiko Astron I’ve been eyeing? That one has a titanium bracelet too.”

“Yes. And that’s not the least of your problems.” He sipped his black coffee—no cream, no joy. “You’re teetering on the edge of a collecting abyss. The Citizen’s already rotting your center. Add one more watch, and your soul will be lost to cluttered mediocrity.”

“But the Astron—it’s beautiful,” I protested.

“Of course it is,” he said, shrugging. “So is opium. Doesn’t mean you should buy a kilo.”

I tried to recover. “It’s the Watch Potency Principle, right? The more watches you own, the more you dilute the power of each one.”

He looked up sharply. “So you have read my work. Then why can’t you live by it? You recite the commandments, but break them before sunrise. Your brain and behavior are locked in bitter divorce.”

“I just need a plan,” I said. “What do I do?”

“Purge,” he said, as if uttering a sacred mantra.

“Purge?”

“Start with the titanium Citizen. Shed that one, then we’ll talk next steps.”

“Our next move?”

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re exhausting. Come back tomorrow at ten sharp. And for God’s sake, don’t buy anything in the meantime.”