Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Dawkins, please have a seat. How are you on this lovely day? I take it you are here to discuss the eligibility of your son, Barry, to attend this fine university?
I have perused your son's transcripts, along with his essay numerous times, and...you know what I love doing? I love spinning in my chair. Yep. I love spinning in my imported Italian Leather chair and looking around my fine, well established office.
There's lots of things that make my office so admirable. I love looking at my numerous diplomas on the wall, along with my fine collection of academic books that I have either written myself, or have read and can recite verbatim. I love the appearance of how the early morning light casts itself upon my original Van Gogh painting, and how the evening light fades itself away on this bear-skin carpet that I killed in the Rocky Mountains back in '74. I have dedicated my life to this office, but there is just one thing here that doesn't fit: this clock here, situated on my desk before you.
This clock, I'm afraid, is terribly slow. Although it appears flawless, and carries a heavy weight of aesthetic pleasure, it is constantly giving me the wrong time, and therefore, giving me poor, misjudged information. It makes me chronically late for meetings, classes, and the like.
Believe me, Mr. and Mrs. Dawkins, I have tried to fix this poor teller of time on several occasions. I have changed it's batteries, I have set it ahead of Eastern Standard Time. I have even taken it to a number of jewelers, hoping to fix it's inner-workings in order to give me the correct time, and subsequently, make it "fit" among my already pristine office. But, alas, noone can seem to help me, and good heavens, I don't know what I shall do! All I know is that it doesn't belong here, that's for sure.
I am thinking of maybe sending it to my friend, Michael Potter. He's the head of the community college over in Bucks County. Hey, you're from Bucks County, aren't you? At any rate, I believe I am going to mail Michael this clock. I know his office well, have visited him several times, and I know that it would look best on his desk, not mine. It's a harsh reality that I am just going to have to succumb to, I'm afraid.
Well, thank you very much for your...haha...time, Mr. And Mrs. Dawkins. I bid you good day, and good luck.