It’s All in The Wrist

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I possess a dominant idiot gene. It’s an incurable condition that causes my entire life to feel like a never-ending blind date. 

The evidence supporting this strange malady is irrefutable: knowingly approaching a black bear and its cub in Teton National Park’s backcountry; hiding from Howard Dean, while working as a radio news director in Vermont, and then having him find me sheepishly sitting alone on a spool of cable in a darkened supply closet; tumbling off stage in front of 240 people in Elko, Nev., after attempting to lean against a curtain that I mistook for a wall, etc., etc.

But on a whole, these examples pale in comparison to me and high-tech gadgetry.

I was reminded of this last month while shopping for a sport watch. My criteria were simple: find a traditional analog watch that tracks time, nothing else, reads well in darkness, repels harsh backcountry conditions and, most importantly, comes with an instruction manual no longer than one page.  Any additional feature would inflame my idiot gene, causing me to blindly push and pull tiny serrated knobs like a gibbering infant with a Fisher Price toy.

My last watch featured an alarm that I used only once after it took me three hours to set, and then it took three months to stop it from beeping every afternoon at 4:41. Several times I had to hurry out of movie matinees feeling like a parent with a screaming newborn, wondering if instead of a crying room the theatre had a beeping room for technology-challenged fools like myself.

Since I had not shopped for a timepiece since the Clinton administration, shock rippled through my brain when I jumped online and scanned the current market. Ye gads, I thought, watches are no longer watches but bewildering cybernetic anthologies glutted with more options than whiskers on Wolf Blitzer’s face.

Casio’s Pathfinder Tide watch, for instance, features five independent daily alarms, moon and tide charts, a thermometer, a barometer, a countdown timer and something called an abnormal magnetic field warning indicator. Even if I possessed the mental capacity to pilot such a device, I don’t think I’d want so much responsibility attached to my left wrist. Nor would I want pestering strangers always asking, “Hey mister, have you got the barometric pressure?”

Just as confusing are the improvised watch categories that manufacturers now favor. Timex, for example, divides its sport watches into six foggy subcategories: Elite Athlete, Inspired Amateur, Weekend Warrior, Active Professional, Rugged Dress and Adventure Gear. After reading this, I sent Timex an e-mail suggesting a category for               “Technology-Challenged Rubes Who Only Wear Watches to Not Miss The Daily Show,” but never heard back.

Timex, did, however, reply to my other e-mail, in which I requested category clarification. According to Howard, a Timex customer service agent, the company’s Ironman Triathlon watch, in the Elite Athlete category, features 50-lap memory, while the same model, in the Inspired Amateur category, features a 30-lap memory. So based on this criteria I’m guessing Timex will soon market a 40-lap sport watch under the category of Inspired But Not Completely Committed.  

L.L. Bean classifies its watches as either Sport or Field. Visually they look identical. But when I called for an explanation, I was told by a cheery voice that Sport features a rugged rubber band while Field fashions a leather band.   

Realizing I needed firsthand help, I visited a local outdoor shop and approached a display case crowded with restless works of high-tech gadgetry. There were watches in various colors, shapes and sizes, many with multiple chronograph dials and metric digital read outs. Immediately I could sense my idiot gene beginning to flare, filling me with the same helpless resignation dogs must experience when looking at doorknobs.

“Need help?” asked a darty-eyed clerk.

“I’m looking for something simple,” I replied. But he apparently heard me say, “I’m in the market for a watch that’s only slightly more complicated than piloting the space shuttle,” and handed me a Suunto Core Multifunction watch. Instead of batteries, this thing looked as if it required a full-time staff of four to operate. I half-expected Q, from James Bond fame, to suddenly appear for a demonstration. Among the Core’s most notable features were a digital compass, a storm alarm and, my favorite, an altimeter accurate to 30,000 feet. Considering the planet’s tallest point is 29,030 feet, this seemed excessive unless, of course, one plans to scale Mt. Everest with a retractable fire ladder.

Sensing my confusion, the clerk then handed me a Timex Ironman Sleek iControl 50-Lap watch, which allows you to play, pause, fast forward and reverse your iPod. Though sleek in design, the watch’s rubber-lattice, bright-green band made it look as if I were wearing a wrist corsage.

Eventually, I settled on a Luminox Navy SEAL Dive Watch. I was sold by its four-paragraph manual, single control knob and classic analog face.

And after three weeks, I’m still championing its simplicity. Although I do wish I could solve how to set the calendar.

Jeff Wozer (Jeffwozer.com) works as a nationally touring stand-up comedian.

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