Stranger Than Fiction

This is a story about a man named Harold Crick.

And his wristwatch.

Harold Crick was a man of infinite numbers,

endless calculations and remarkably few words.

And his wristwatch said even less.

Every weekday, for 12 years

Harold would brush each of his 32 teeth 76 times.

Thirty-eight times back and forth.

Thirty-eight times up and down.

Every weekday, for 12 years

Harold would tie his tie in a single Windsor knot instead of the double

thereby saving up to 43 seconds.

His wristwatch thought the single Windsor made his neck look fat

but said nothing.

Every weekday, for 12 years

Harold would run at a rate of nearly 57 steps per block for six blocks

barely catching the 8:17 Kronecker bus.

His wristwatch would delight

in the feeling of the crisp wind rushing over its face.

And every weekday, for 12 years

Harold would review 7.134 tax files

as a senior agent for the Internal Revenue Service.

Regs section 1.469-2 , Diane. Thanks.

Good morning. IRS.

Harold, 89 times 1417?

126,113.

That adds up.

Only taking a 45.7-minute lunch break…

and a 4.3-minute coffee break,

timed precisely by his wristwatch.

Oh, great.

Yeah, we'll go to Mullen's or we'll...

Beyond that, Harold lived a life of solitude.

He would walk home alone.

He would eat alone.

And at precisely 11:13 every night,

Harold would go to bed alone,

placing his wristwatch to rest on the nightstand beside him.

That was, of course, before Wednesday.

On Wednesday, Harold's wristwatch changed everything.

Oh, my God, you got it?

I got it.

I got it.

If one had asked Harold, he would have said

that this particular Wednesday was exactly like all the Wednesdays prior.

And he began it the same way he—

And he began it the same way he always did.

Hello?

He began it the same way he always did.

When others' minds would—

Hello? Is someone there?

When others' minds would fantasize about their upcoming day

or even try to grip onto the final moments of their dreams

Harold just counted brushstrokes.

All right, who just said, "Harold just counted brushstrokes"?

And how do you know I'm counting brushstrokes?

Hello?

It was remarkable how the simple, modest--

It was remarkable h--

It was remarkable how the simple, modest elements of Harold's life,

so often taken for granted,

would become the catalyst for an entirely new life.

Harold ran for the bus,

his stiff leather shoes making a terrible squeaking sound

as they flexed against the asphalt.

And though this was an extraordinary day,

a day to be remembered for the rest of Harold's life,

Harold just thought it was a Wednesday.

I'm sorry, did you hear that?

The voice. Did you hear it? "Harold just thought it was a Wednesday"?

Don't worry, it is Wednesday.

No, no, did you hear it? "Harold just thought it was a Wednesday"?

- Who's Harold? - I'm Harold.

Harold, it's okay, it's Wednesday.

No, no, I--

Never mind.

Harold couldn't concentrate on his work.

Excuse me, Harold?

His thoughts were scattered. His mind elsewhere.

Sorry.

Someone here should be able to fix-- Hold on a second.

Hey, Harold. What's 67 times 453?

When a coworker asked the product of 67 and 453…

You know what? I can't think while you're talking.

he drew a blank.

- What? - What?

Harold quickly answered "30,351."

What? Oh, nothing. 30,351.

Despite the answer really being 31,305.

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. 31,305. Sorry.

Dude, I just totally caught some insurance adjuster

claiming his jet ski as a work vehicle.

I'll tell you, it is a shame

that they don't give out an auditor of the year award.

Dude?

You okay?

Dave, I'm being followed.

How are you being followed? You're not moving.

- It's by a voice. - What?

I'm being followed by a woman's voice.

Oh.

Okay.

Um--

What is she saying?

She's narrating.

Oh.

Harold, you're staring at boxes, what is she narrating?

No, no, no. I had to stop filing.

Watch. Watch. Listen. Listen.

The sound the paper made against the folder

had the same tone as a wave scraping against sand.

And when Harold thought about it,

he listened to enough waves every day

to constitute what he imagined to be a deep and endless ocean.

Did you hear that?

You mean you filing?

No, no, no, the voice.

No.

Frightening part is sometimes I do imagine a deep and endless ocean.

What ocean?

The one made by the sound-- Forget it.

New audits. Have a good day.

Thank you.

All right, um, we got a baker and a securities trader.

Uh, maybe you should take the baker.

- Okay. - Okay?

Okay.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

- You miscreant. - I understand.

Oh, get bent, taxman!

- Taxman! - Taxman!

Taxman!

- Go home! - Boo!

Listen, is there somewhere else we could talk about this?

Uh, no. We're gonna talk about this right here.

Okay. It says, the file, that you only paid part of your taxes for last year.

- That's right. - Looks like only 78 percent.

Yep.

So you did it on purpose?

Yep.

So you must have been expecting an audit?

Um, I was expecting a fine...

or a sharp reprimand.

A reprimand? This isn't boarding school, Ms. Pascal.

You stole from the government.

No, I didn't steal from the government. I just didn't pay you entirely.

Ms. Pascal, you can't just not pay your taxes.

Yes, I can.

You can if you wanna get audited.

Only if I recognize your right to audit me, Mr. Crick.

Ms. Pascal, I'm right here auditing you.

Now I have to go over your past three years of return

to make sure that's all you haven't paid.

Fine.

Actually, you know, it's not fine.

Listen, I'm a big supporter of fixing potholes

and erecting swing sets and building shelters.

I am more than happy to pay those taxes.

I'm just not such a big fan of the percentage

that the government uses for national defense,

corporate bailouts and campaign discretionary funds.

So I didn't pay those taxes.

I think-- Actually,

I sent a letter to that effect with my return.

Would it be the letter that begins, "Dear Imperialist Swine"?

Yes.

Ms. Pascal, what you're describing is anarchy. Are you an anarchist?

- You mean am I a member of--? - An anarchist group, yes.

Anarchists have a group?

I believe so. Sure.

They assemble?

I don't know.

Wouldn't that completely defeat the purpose?

It was difficult for Harold to imagine Ms. Pascal as a revolutionary.

- Not now. - Her thin arms

- What? - hoisting protest signs.

-Her long shapely legs -Huh? Nothing.

dashing from tear gas.

Harold wasn't prone to fantasies,

and so he tried his best to remain professional.

But, of course, failed.

He couldn't help but imagine Ms. Pascal

stroking the side of his face with the soft blade of her finger.

He couldn't help but imagine her immersed in a tub,

shaving her legs.

And he couldn't help but imagine her naked,

stretched across his bed. - Mr. Crick?

- Mr. Crick. - Yes, what is it?

You're staring at my tits.

Uh-- I wa--? I don't think I was. I don't think I would do that.

If I was, I can assure you

it was only as a representative of the United States government.

Sorry, I'm just having issues today. So I'll be back on, uh-- On Tuesday.

Harold suddenly found himself beleaguered and exasperated

outside the bakery, -Shut up!

cursing the heavens in futility.

No, I'm not, I'm cursing you, you stupid voice!

So shut up and leave me alone!

Whoa!

Hey, watch it!