He reached into the trash can and pulled out the timer, still in its original plastic bag, the cardboard at the top still intact, still stapled closed. He saw the price tag. $4.98. This is a good find, a very good find.
Maynard pocketed the timer and headed for home, anxious to try it out. Along the way he thought of all the things he'd be able to do with his new find.
Why, I can see how long I can hold my breath. I can make perfect eggs! Every time!! Somehow Maynard had forgotten the fact that his doctor had put him on a strict no-cholesterol diet--and that eggs were strictly verboten.
Soft-boiled, fried, over-easy!! Maynard was on top of the world. He wanted to jump and click his heels. He tried, but only ended up frightening a mother and her young daughter. He patted his hand on his pocket. He felt the reassuring bulge. This is it!
This my ticket out!! This is a good day!!!
He eyed everyone with suspicion as he walked along. They all seemed to *know*. All eyes were on his right front pants pocket. He circled down the street as he walked, and entered his apartment building like a sleek jungle cat.
"You ok, Maynard?" said the doorman.
"Nothing. It's nothing," said Maynard, feeling the gaze of the doorman burning his trousers.
"What?"
"Oh, *this*? It's a--it's--I bought it. I went to the store and I bought it."
"You been working too hard, Mayn. You oughtta get more sleep.
Maynard slipped into the elevator and the doors began to close. A woman's hand darted in at the last moment.
Damn! Damn, thought Maynard, pounding on the 'Close Door' button. The door opened and closed on the woman's hand. She was holding a bag of groceries in her other arm.
"Could you please--"
Maynard saw that in her bag was an egg timer. He relaxed and opened the door for her. She got in. Maynard noticed that she was quite sexy, wearing a tight, sleeveless dress and sandals with heels. Her toenails were painted red and she smelled faintly of Opium.
"Doors are funny," said Maynard.
"You only had to press this button," she said.
"Nice egg timer."
"Excuse me?"
"That egg timer. In your grocery bag. It's a nice one. I have one just like it."
"Oh."
She got out at the twelfth floor and Maynard continued up to the twentieth. He kept circling all the way down the hall to his apartment. He entered, double-bolted his door, pulled the chain, and unplugged his phone. He took the timer out of his trouser pocket and started to open the bag. It wouldn't open. The bag wouldn't rip, the cardboard wouldn't tear, and the single staple that held it all together seemed indestructible. Maynard struggled with it for over an hour before finally, sweaty and exhausted, he sat in his comfy chair and drifted off to sleep.
His nap was fitful and disturbed. In his dream, legions of women were lining up to sleep with "the three-minute wonder" as he had become known. They each set the timer over his bed and then slipped in beside him. They all left, bitter and unsatisfied.
Maynard awoke to the sound of his phone. I unplugged that, he thought. He answered it. It was the woman from the elevator. Maynard had an olfactory memory and thought about her Opium. "Hi, I was wondering...this egg timer I bought--it doesn't seem to be working right. Could I--could you--maybe--I have to make a bunch of eggs for a dinner party and I was hoping--could I use yours?"
"Um, sure," said Maynard. "Works great. You want me to bring it down?"
"I could come up. It's no bother."
Maynard started to sweat again and wiped his forehead on a sleeve. "No, really, the place is a mess. I'm heading out soon anyway--"
"Right away?" She sounded disappointed. "I was kinda hoping...well, that's okay. Bring it by 1224 soon as you head out. Thanks a lot. You're a doll."
Maynard tried to open it with his teeth. No luck. He dug up a staple remover and tried that. Still nothing. What the hey??!! He started up a band saw and tried that. Didn't even dent it. All right, think. It can still work even *in* the bag. Maynard turned the timer to three minutes and let go. It didn't move. Shit. He tried turning it back to zero. Wouldn't budge. Fuck.
Then he got to thinking. *Eggs*?? For a *dinner party*?? Something didn't wash. What the hell was her angle, anyhow?? And why couldn't she just use a watch??!! Why did it *have* to be an egg timer?!! Jut what the *fuck* was going on??!! Unaccustomed to multi-layered thought, Maynard turned on the tv. On the Home Shopping Network they were selling egg timers. He only got one other channel. He switched to it. Mork and Mindy.
Fuck!
They found Maynard days later slumped in his chair, blood leaking from an ear, the egg timer at his feet, on zero, not ticking but mocking.