Timothy Fishlake had a problem. Wait, let’s correct that: Timothy Fishlake had at least two problems. One was that at the ripe old age of 20, he was still a virgin, a fact that was a constant source of embarrassment to him. But that was not the problem that was uppermost in his mind at the present time. The prevailing problem was Gloria Goodhead.

Mrs Goodhead was the office manager of the shipping department of Amalgamated Widgets plc. And she was a real bitch. At least so far as Timothy Fishlake was concerned. It is probably fair to say that Timothy is not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but that’s no reason for Mrs Goodhead to be constantly picking on him, humiliating him in front of young female secretariesl.

The most recent example was when Gloria Goodhead sent Timothy on an errand to the supervisor in Quality Control.

“Now Timothy, this is important. I don’t want any mistakes this time, so you repeat to me what you have to ask the supervisor.”

“Right! OK.” Timothy cleared his throat. “I have to ask for a long weight.” Timothy assumed that a long weight was some component, vital to the manufacture of widgets.

Unfortunately, what Gloria actually said was “Ask the supervisor for a long wait.”

The supervisor is Monica Rimmington, a close friend of Gloria. She listened to Timothy’s request, trying hard to suppress her amusement.

“Ok, young man. Go and wait just there.” Monica indicated a spot in front of the bench where a team of widget testers worked.

Timothy stood on the specified spot and waited. And waited. And waited. He looked at his watch. Half an hour had passed. Timothy glanced over at Monica Rimmington. Had she forgotten he was there? One of the female widget testers stifled a snigger.

Timothy began to suspect that once again he was the butt of a joke. Monica glanced over at Timothy.

“You still here? You’d better get back to Mrs Goodhead. She’ll be wondering where you are.”

“But I haven’t got the long weight,” he protested. Then, as he spoke, the penny dropped. All of the widget testers and Monica Rimmington doubled up with laughter. A red-faced Timothy Fishlake made his way back to the shipping department to be met with gales of laughter.

Mrs Goodhead could hardly speak. Tears of mirth ran down her cheeks.

“You waited too long, Timothy,” she spluttered. “You’ll have to make up the lost time at the weekend.”

At lunchtime, Timothy could not face the inevitable finger pointing and giggles in the staff canteen. He left the building and wandered aimlessly looking for a sandwich outlet. As he walked, he devised all sorts of torments he would inflict on Mrs Goodhead when he became king of the world.

“I’ll make her pull her skirt up and pull her panties down to her knees and everybody will point at her big, red bush and laugh at her.” Timothy realised that he could not know for sure that Gloria Goodhead had red pubic hair adorning her feminine charms. But it was an educated guess, based on the fact that she had the most striking red hair that Tim had ever seen. It was definitely her best asset. Although Gloria was a bitch, he had to admit she wasn’t bad looking for a middle-aged woman, about the same age as his mother.

The thought of humiliating Gloria cheered Timothy up no end and gave him a hard-on to boot.

The fantasy situation had consumed him to the point that he had lost track of where he was. Looking round, he knew he was in one of the numerous streets near the widget works, but couldn’t immediately recognise it. There were a number of small shops including a newsagent that sold sandwiches in plastic wrappers. Timothy bought a BLT and ate it as he wandered along the pavement.

Then he spotted what appeared to be a second-hand or antique shop. Through the dusty window the untidy display included an eclectic mix of old objects. The sign above the window said “Needful Things” in faded gold letting.

Although Timothy couldn’t see anything in the tawdry display that was of particular interest, curiosity drew him to the door, which was in need of a touch of paint. As he pushed it open, an old-fashioned bell on a bracket over the door startled Timothy. A curtain at the rear of the shop was pushed to one side as an elderly man entered the sales area.

Timothy began to wonder if he had made a mistake. He couldn’t see anything that remotely interested him. There was a musty smell and a layer of dust covered everything. A collection of stuffed animals and birds on a shelf struck Timothy as being very unpleasant.

He turned to leave but the old man croaked, “I am sure you will find something you need if you care to look. Everyone gets what they need at Needful Things.”

There was something in the old man’s tone that made Timothy turn to the glass-topped counter and peer through the fogged glass to study the contents. An old cobweb decorated one corner of the display cabinet. One item, an old watch stood out as being reasonably free from dust and grime.

“Could I take a look at that watch?” Timothy heard himself say. He had no idea why as he wore a perfectly adequate wristwatch.

“A wise choice, young man. That is a fine piece.” His gnarled fingers carefully lifted the watch out of the cabinet. “Here, take it. Hold it, feel the quality.”

Timothy examined the timepiece. It looked at first like a pocket watch, but it was actually a stopwatch. The sort of thing that might have been used at sporting events. A button on the side started the watch when pressed. A second press stopped the sweep hand, allowing the time elapsed to be read. Another press reset the watch.

“What’s this for?” Timothy pointed to a smaller button, diametrically opposite the stop-start button.

The old man sighed. “Unfortunately, I do not have an instruction manual, but I am sure a little experimentation will reveal its purpose.”

“How much is it?” Timothy had no idea why he asked because he didn’t really want the watch anyway. As he spoke, Timothy drew his credit card out. The old man shook his head sadly.

“I am sorry young man, but it is cash only here. I am a rather old-fashioned person.”

Relieved that he appeared to have ruled himself out of the purchase, he muttered something about coming back when he had some cash.

“Wait,” instructed the shopkeeper. “Take the watch and try it out for a few days. If it does not meet your requirements just bring it back. If you like it, then return and we will negotiate a fair price.”

Cornered by the old man’s generous and trusting offer, Timothy found it impossible to refuse. He made one last attempt to avoid being lumbered with the watch, he didn’t really want.

“But how do you know I’ll return? I could just keep it.”

“No, you won’t. You are an honest young man. I can tell.”

Of course, the shopkeeper was right. He took the watch. “No obligation?”

“No obligation,” the old man agreed.”

That evening, sitting in the family lounge, Timothy took the watch from his pocket and examined it.

“What have you got there, Tim?” His Mother was ironing some clothes as she questioned her son.

“Huh! Nothing mum, just an old watch.”

His dad looked up from the newspaper he was reading and glanced over at his son. “Planning on doing some running, Son?”

Timothy grunted vaguely and his dad turned back to his paper.

Timothy turned his attention to the button opposite the stop-start button. He pressed it, but there was no obvious reaction. Then he held it pressed down, while pressing the stop-start button at the same time. The sweep hand began to move, but nothing else was happening.