Guilty as charged

When yesterday I offered an apology letter to a potentially unhappy Samurai Night Vision customer, I didn't know that I would be writing an "I am sorry" note in less than 24 hours. And not to just any customer, but to a barrister who specialises in contracts, restitution, and misleading conduct. Ouch. Luckily, the watch in question was not a Seiko. It was a trustworthy and robust Omega Moon watch, which was delivered to the customer-the barrister-with an issue. As annoying as it is, the watch had to be shipped back. While there was not the slightest doubt that I would be able to diagnose the problem and rectify it promptly, such "incidents" are annoying and can potentially spoil the enjoyment of a newly acquired watch.  The watch arrived this morning and it was the first job on my to-do list.  It literally took two seconds to spot the issue: a freely floating screw! A mere minute later, the screw was back, securely tightened. The Moon watch was ticking again, showing a perfect line on the timegrapher, needing no further adjustment. (Yes, I checked all the other screws, which were also fine). Things happen. At the end of the day, a watch is merely a complex sum of finely tuned mechanical components. For unexplainable reasons, even the tightest screw can unscrew; even the best watchmaker can make a mistake, and sometimes, the stars align in such a way that the time itself gets confused. Randomness, uncertainty, and disorder are mighty forces no one can overcome. Time favours entropy. The good news is that events like this are very rare. Out of hundreds of watches sold, only one or two have been returned to the workbench, under guarantee. Ironically, the return rate of brand-new watches is slightly higher than that of second-hand models. When the watch grows out of its "infancy stage", and once the teething problems are ironed out, most watches behave in an orderly and predictable way.  You see, writing an apology letter is easy:  "Dear Sir, I've made a mistake, I am sorry, I've fixed it."