It was just a little dusty, Your Honor

 

I wasn’t spring cleaning, I just happened to notice the dust on this metronome as I walked by.  I don’t even recall why we have such a thing, neither of us play an instrument, yet here it is.

Carefully I carried it into the kitchen to wipe it off with a damp cloth.  It cleaned up nicely, and now that I was holding it, I began to pay closer attention to it.  

There was a wind-up key, of course, and a small adjustable weight along the arm.  I’m guessing it is the position of that weight that determines the tempo, or speed with which it ticks back and forth.

Such a loud tick.  I bet, if this were hidden in just the right spot, someone would end up calling the bomb squad.

 What a hoot.  I could get arrested for carrying a live metronome into the workplace.  Until everything was sorted out, they'd toss me in the slammer.  I’d have a record.

“What are you in for?”

A beat.

“You mean you beat someone up?”

No.  Just a beat.

Other people in the jail would move away from me.

And should it get into the court system, I’d find myself answering the judge, who no doubt, would be asking me WHY I brought such a thing into the workplace.  

Homeland Security could possibly enter the picture.  Now that would be something to write home about.  I mean, I could understand being put on the terrorist list, if they heard me singing, but not this.

I walked it carefully back into the den and set it back on the shelf.  I don’t think this is something I care to mess with.