Wall Clock September 2014: "The London Tower Clock"

August's Honduras clock was tacky and fun. With it's old school charm and interesting family backstory I hoped someone at the Goodwill would keep the clock's heirloom memory alive. But for September, I wanted to change things up with a bit more class and elegance.

What better, than a snazzy ad titled "London Tower Clock"? Plus, the pictures looked great. I fully expected to hear a neat, quaint story about the journey of this clock from merry ole' England to the states. And I fully expected to intertwine the story and look of this clock with my own travels to London, mirroring my own thoughts about England. I even wanted to discuss my original plan to move to London, to get my degree there, and graduate while attending the 2012 Olympics. What an amazing story that would have been to tell! But as life is, random and emotional, so was today.

On my way to pick up the clock nearby, I wondered if there really was a "London Tower Clock" in London somewhere. I knew of, and have seen the famous London Tower Bridge, but there wasn't a "London Tower Clock" nearby that bridge that I could remember. Perhaps the famous Big Ben has another nickname?

As I passed LACMA and the La Brea Tar Pits, I imagined myself as James Bond on a mission, to bring the infamous, sacred London Tower Clock back to its rightful English owners. But first! Bond had to make a pitstop at CVS for some peanuts (I'll have you know, Bond likes making homemade peanut butter)... Then, back on the road! Only a few more moments to my destination.

I snapped out-of-my-trance once I rang the doorbell and heard a little yapping dog alert the resident that I had arrived. Todd, 45ish, opened the door, scooped up "Noogie", a white and grey terrier, in one hand, and with the other, bent over, grabbed the clock from behind the door and handed me the infamous "London Tower Clock."

"Holy Crap!" I exclaimed. "This thing is huge, much bigger than I expected. Wow!" - I wasn't joking. This thing was 5x bigger than I expected and after a few moments of examination I realized size wasn't the only unexpected thing. What looked like elegantly carved wood in the pictures was actually cardboard. And what looked like hand painted cracked marble was printed paper. This thing was practically garbage. Huge cardboard and paper garbage. There had to be a good backstory to this thing.


Todd told me he owned the clock for about 10 years and didn't have space to store it anymore. That made sense, this thing was giant. I was curious about how he obtained it, still half-expecting a back story of English beginnings.

"Actually, to be honest," he said. "It was left by the condo agency at my last place, with some other stuff. It doesn't even work. I just used it as decoration."

"That's what I'd use it for as well, decoration," I quickly agreed, mainly in effort to squash the awkward air surrounding his admission that he's selling me something he got for free.

Was this dude scamming me? Selling crap left over from a condo agency? Who does that? I started to feel uncomfortable and just blankly stared at this giant light-as-a-feather thing in my hands. Should I renig and just bolt? This thing wasn't what I expected, it was cheap, cardboard, and massive. The backstory was uninspiring and something didn't smell right.

I looked back at the gated entryway, then at the spiral staircase behind Todd. I quickly surmised I was standing on the doorstep of a 2 million dollar condo. "At least 2 million," I thought. There's probably a swimming pool and a maid too. It reminded me of the places I'd see while growing up in Santa Barbara. Places that I don't have very fond memories of. And Todd reminded me of people that I don't have very fond memories of either.

I half-expected him to sick his dog on me, shut the gates, take me inside to a waiting room full of rich people sitting around making bets and playing games with human lives. The game? How much can you make off a shitty free cardboard clock! And once purchased, they'd crack my head open and eat my brains probably. As I looked up at Todd, the terrier in his arms looked my way and sniffed the air as if to say "YOU are whats for dinner!"

Why would this seemingly super rich dude be selling some crappy-ass clock he got for free? What's he hiding? He must be hiding something. Maybe there's drugs hidden inside and he's using me as a scapegoat until the time is right. Maybe I'm unknowingly a drug mule. Does he really need $20? This place is crazy expensive.

I was a bit rustled. And sometimes when my emotions get this riled up, I bolt. But I've learned, through life and education, that sometimes our brains overreact. So I took two seconds, composed myself, swallowed the negativity, pressed on, and broke the silence by asking him how long he's been living at this amazing duplex.

"Oh, this place isn't mine," he said as he put down the dog and closed the door behind him. "I'm staying with my brother for a little while and have some things I'm trying to sell."

Hmmm, I thought.

"In fact, I'm having a garage sale this weekend if you want to come by. Actually, since you are here, you can take first crack at some of the stuff I'm selling."

Without my reply, he walked passed me and rounded the corner towards the garage. I was still a bit skeptical of this whole situation really, fully expecting the garage door to open to a Lexus, expensive china, and other rich-folk type of stuff, including a torture-cave with-lotion-bucket action.

But then, as I looked around, it became clear. He spoke about his run-down bed frame, the scratched half-broken dresser, the shitty shelves, the books, and all the other, homey, personal, typical, random garage sale items all stacked neatly on one side of the garage. He was telling me the truth. On one side of the garbage was all he had left, on the other side was his brother's luxury vehicle. Todd wasn't the rich one, his brother was.

My heart sank. Todd's place was probably foreclosed. Or perhaps he just went through a terrible divorce. And now, at nearing 50, he selling all his belongings to to make ends meet while dogsitting for his brother. Todd is starting over. I knew it to be true.

I handed over the $20 immediately.