There is a bustling community of Orthodox Jewish folks here in Montréal.   Particularly in my neck of the woods. I walk by the men, women and children every day going to and from work.

Admittedly, I am ignorant when it comes to their customs as it pertains to dress code but it is summer and I often see the men wearing a suit with a vest AND an overcoat.  If that’s how they dress in the summer how do they brace themselves against the death defying deep freeze of Canada winter?  

When I think about what their winter outfits look like all I can see is little Randy Parker, Ralphie’s kid brother in A Christmas Story, so bundled up that he can’t put his arms down.  Just in proper Jewish Orthodox attire.  

I bring all of this up because it is an Orthodox Jewish man, and business owner, who is responsible for the grandest and simultaneously most entertaining act of kindness offered to me in this fine city.

By simply fixing my watch.

It all started a couple weeks ago when I clumsily dropped said watch after a sauna/cold plunge circuit, causing the latch that connects the band together to pop off.

Clearly I do not know my timepiece vocabulary.

I may have compared myself to Al Borland in the first post, but I assure you I was absent the day repair skills were passed out.  There are two repair wins I can point to as a previous homeowner –  getting a garbage disposal in a sink to restart and unclogging a shower drain.  

Both were celebrated as though I’d put the finishing touches on the Eiffel Tower.  In private.  With my then menagerie of animal housemates.

I could clearly see how to fix the damn thing, but I simply could not get the piece back on.  I spent an embarrassing amount of time frustrating myself to no end.  I’m loath to admit it – probably a solid 90 minutes total.

Across three days. Three different blocks of time I don’t have to spare dedicated to reattaching a clasp to a piece of fake leather.

And there was no change in my approach. 1 pin in the fake leather coming out both sides that can be pushed on to collapse. Two tiny indentions on the clasp for the pins to push into happily connecting my small slice of timepiece heaven.

One side of the pin would lock into the clasp with ease. The other side would immediately begin its maniacal cackle. Egging me on, daring me to attempt to push the pin down enough to slide the clasp over the pin.

Approximately 87 times I thought I had bested the pin.

But like an IKEA dresser, the son of a bitch gave no quarter.

Pride wounded, I accepted payment would be necessary to outsource this job to a pro. The John Wick of watch repair.

The watch itself only cost $30 but I was willing to pay to have it fixed.  I like the watch and I have grown fond of the weight and feel on my wrist. So I found a jewelry shop near my office and hightailed it over there during lunch.

There was not just one, but two caged doors that had to be unlocked before I could pass through them. This was not a place to buy a Timex, this was more of a Rolex joint.

As I sauntered in an elderly Orthodox Jewish man approached and I explained my predicament and handed the watch over.

I didn’t have a stopwatch, but I’d wager he popped the piece back on in less than 3 seconds, looked at me with the well deserved smile of a seasoned veteran schooling an apprentice and said assertively, “goodbye.”