Before I throw myself under the loupe, I would like to make a few things clear. Nobody who knows me would particularly refer to me as Mr. Clean. I am not the guy who straightens the pencil on his desk, or cringes when he spots a pair of mismatched socks peaking out beneath the hem of a pair of jeans. In fact, as I type this, in front of me is last night’s pint glass stained with the dried foam from a watery tasting Bud Light, while behind me on my carpet is yesterday’s pair of socks waiting to be thrown in the hamper. I am not saying I am an utter slob, but I am definitely not a neat-freak either. But Zach the watch collector can be. My approach to my timepieces has become a serious compulsion, a hard-wired habit that adds minutes to my everyday routine. My close #watchfam friends think my personal watch ritual is weird or, at the very least, over cautious, over protective and unnecessary. But like the superstition of an athlete before a big game, once you develop a habit it becomes hard to shake and, frankly, I don’t mind the little extra work.…
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