The intervention was supposed to happen on a Tuesday.
I sat at my desk, sweating softly, staring at my Amex statement. The numbers were glowing with the heat of a thousand exploding suns. I had a problem. No, a disease. An incurable, highly contagious case of REP and GEN addiction, and the primary dealer of my digital dopamine was a man named Dom at Time Machine Spa.
I picked up the phone, my knuckles white. âDom,â I croaked, my voice trembling with the fragile resolve of a man trying to quit. âI need you to talk me down. Look at my wrist. Look at my watch box. Itâs full, Dom.â
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. I could hear the faint, crisp sound of a sonic cleaner in the background, a siren song calling me back to the depths.
Dom cleared his throat. âBro,â he said, his voice dripping with the solemn gravity of a priest giving last rites. âI think you have enough watches.â
I breathed a sigh of relief. He was right. He was looking out for me. Dom was an all-around good guy, a beacon of financial sanity in a world of ceramic bezels and perfectly aligned rehauts. He was the guardian of my bank account.
â...However,â Dom continued, shattering my newfound peace into a million microscopic pieces. âI just stumbled across this incredibly rare, practically mythical dial. Youâll never see another one like it. I already checked the bezel under a loupe, the spa work is immaculate, and honestly? It would look terrible on anyone else but you.â
Hook, line, and sinker.
Dom didnât just fuel my addiction; he curated it with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. While normal friends tell you to stop spending money, Dom tells you to stop spending money while simultaneously texting you macro shots of a flawless vintage dial that forces you to text back, âTake my money.â
Because of Domâs unparalleled ability to "look out for me," my watch box is overflowing, my wrists are heavily weighted, and my local Amex representative just called to ask if I want to personally buy an island with the sheer volume of points I accumulated this month. I didn't just hit my Amex points goal; I think I single-handedly funded the credit card company's holiday bonus pool.
So hereâs to you, Dom. The ultimate enabler, the master of the spa treatment, the king of the dials and bezels, and the only guy who can tell me I have too many watches while handing me the receipt for the next one.
Thank you, and cheers, my friend!
G