The Slowest Hour

I have no doubt that time is elastic. A second is hardly ever a second, a minute is a mutable thing and hours can exist anywhere between blink-of-the-eye quickness and a slow gelatinous creep. There is for me, however, an hour which more than others becomes a moribund struggle, a slow inexorable march. That hour starts at 4pm on a Friday.

It seems a series of events coalesce to produce this time warping effect. I’ve had at least one pint at lunchtime, most of the people that call me at work have already left, and I don’t want to start any jobs as I won’t have time to finish them. Couple these to Big Brother watching my internet usage and you’re left with me sat at my desk trying to figure out how it’s only ten past four.

I’ve tried to find a way to pass the time. My desk presents no opportunities to speed the hour up, technical manuals, promotional DVDs, broken IT equipment. Not even a small plastic Godzilla can help this situation.

I take two hard disk magnets and stick them together. It’s a good start but I need something else. Rooting around in my drawer I find some broken ball mice and discover the interior of them to be a large ball bearing. These become stuck to the magnets too. I check my change, and find that some two pence coins are magnetic. These are stuck to the magnets along with any drawing pins and paperclips.

Intoxicated by my success, I begin searching for more items to add to my magnetic medley. A screwdriver, a pen, a wrench, a tray, a filing cabinet, a stove, a car, a plane, a ship, a skyscraper, a mountain, a planet, a sun, a galaxy, a universe.

As I float in nothingness, gazing at my creation, I idly wonder what time it is.

4:15pm