Time is a universal construct by which we all abide. I know people who freely flout societal conventions regarding food, dress, language, education, employment, family, religion, sexuality, and amusement. But I’ve never met anyone who did not bow, somehow, to the clock.

I get a cozy feeling when a stranger asks me for the time and I give it to them. This fleeting pleasure of random human connectivity has become rare with the increasing ubiquity of cell phones and other personal electronic devices. We are all constantly, even painfully aware of what time it is.

The center of my town has three public clocks. All three are malfunctioning. This, too, is a sign of the times.

Clock #1 – Jewelry Store – defunct

The jewelry store’s heyday is decades past; it survives on repairs and loyal customers buying presents for their granddaughters. The display in the window features birthstone earrings, heart-shaped pendants, and other dull ornaments that can be easily afforded on two week’s allowance. Peek inside further, and you will see sparse jewelry cases with a token inventory of rings, watches, and pendants; you may see the elderly owners in conversation with an elderly gent from the neighborhood who stopped by on his daily constitutional to say howdy.

Given the store’s location in the heart of a traditionally Catholic middle-class town, it has probably always been an utilitarian jewelry store, for practical baubles. A confirmation cross for the son, pearl studs for the daughter’s Sweet Sixteen, maybe a costume jewelry stickpin for the wife’s birthday. The bare-bones analog clock on the store’s marquee, with stark ticks in lieu of numbers, serves as a reminder of how nice it is to know the time, and speaking of which, would you like to buy a watch?

But the clock has been stuck at ten til six since last fall. There is a tragic irony, that this ma-and-pa jewelry store that subsists on watch repairs has yet to repair its own.

Clock #2 – Unitarian Church – impaired

The town’s most prominent clock is on the bell tower of the Unitarian church, which sits on a corner of a major intersection. I like that the Unitarian church displays a clock, for it is a fitting emblem for a pseudo-religious sect who always keeps one hand firmly planted in hard scientific reality.

We went to this Unitarian church for services once. We couldn’t see ourselves going regularly; the small tight-knit congregation seemed emotionally needy, with nearly half of the service devoted to public confessions, soapboxing, and pleas for spiritually-sanitized prayer.  I really wanted to like this church because I have a history with Unitarianism, but also because of the clock. How many times have I passed this clock on my way to the bike path and relied on it for the time? So simple, yet so comforting in its reliable constantness.

Now, the Unitarian church’s clock is broken. It displays a different time every time that I look at it, but it’s never the right time, and there is no pattern to its aberrance. But I still look at it whenever I pass it, just to see if it has been fixed.

Clock #3 – Citizen’s Bank – spazzy

And further down the town’s main thoroughfare, a Citizen’s Bank displays a digital clock that alternates showing the time and temperature. We’ve all seen these outside of banks. They’re meant to convey the sense that this bank is knowledgeable, helpful, and ready to serve the community at-large. They can give you a checking account, a mortgage, and tell you if you need a hat.

As the ma-and-pa stores are being siphoned out of existence by the big-box supercenters, the physical shells that they leave behind are usually always replaced by a restaurant or a bank. In this age of 1-800 numbers and online checking accounts, the increasing prevalence of banking locations has always puzzled me. Perhaps these are relics of the financial bubble that so spectacularly exploded; each institution wanted to strategically tap into every community in the country to offer it risky credit.

The clock’s lighting devices are in desperate need of maintenance, as each number is missing a telltale part that would distinguish, say, a 6 from a 9,  or a 2 from a 3. Although this can make the temperature display pretty vague, a thinking person can usually piece together the correct time.

Still, there is something unseemly about this clock in the front of the bank, as it flashes its cyrptic runes to the town which it purports to serve with equal parts helplessness and disdain.