A few things to know before stealing my Patek Philippe 5004P
A thief's guide to mastering a temperamental timepiece
This is not the usual SDC content… it is more akin to what you’d find on my Instagram page, intended to be for amusement and nothing more. A friend and SDC subscriber warned me, that this post was ‘off brand’ and perhaps doesn’t fit with the SDC tone you might be accustomed to. I decided to post it anyway, and hope you will let your thoughts be known - both negative and positive feedback is welcome!
This is a satirical essay, from the perspective of a jaded watch owner to a would-be thief - inspired by and adapted from a similar essay sent to me by a friend, which was a letter to a car thief.
Enjoy!
ScrewDownCrown is a reader-supported guide to the world of watch collecting, behavioural psychology, & other first world problems.
Dear Cretin,
Welcome to my Patek Philippe Reference 5004P perpetual calendar split-seconds chronograph. I imagine that at this point (having found my watch safe unlocked) your intention is to steal my watch. Don’t be encouraged by this; I broke a key in the lock during the Clinton administration. I would have secured it again if I could, so don’t think you’re too clever or that I’m careless. Anyway, now that you’ve got your hands on the watch, there are a few things you need to know.
First, the mainspring is completely unwound, so simply strapping it on and checking the time is not your first step. I leave it unwound, not to foil miscreants such as yourself, but because there is a mysterious power drain that I can’t locate and/or fix. So, wind it first. Good luck figuring out the winding direction, more on this later.
You can skip your lockpicking tools. The crown is so worn that any paperclip or toothpick will do to pull it out. Don’t tell anyone.
Once you’ve figured that out and try to set the time, you’ll run into serious trouble. The watch is most likely stuck between date changes, given that the pusher mechanisms kinda froze up sometime during the debut of the Spice Girls. Bear in mind, there is no safety feature on the date-changing mechanism like the ones Moser and MB&F have, make sure to tilt the watch at precisely 45 degrees before you try to do anything (I don’t want you damaging the gears).
With the watch tilted, the crown should turn easily enough to get things going. But first, you’ll need to rotate it counterclockwise exactly seven times. Not six. Not eight. Seven. Like I said, the perpetual calendar pushers are faulty, so you’ll be priming the mechanism for the necessary startup regime. If you don’t do it right, the watch won’t start before your wrist spasms from holding it at that awkward angle. Consider yourself forewarned.
If you’ve followed along so far, the balance wheel should start oscillating right away. Don’t be fooled - it will stop in eighteen seconds when the initial pre-wind power runs out. Repeat the winding procedure, but only turn five times. Deviate from this routine at your own peril.
Now you have the watch running. Make sure the seconds hand is moving. If it isn’t, you only have about 120 seconds to reset it before the escapement freezes, so stay focused. If all goes well with the timekeeping, you may now attend to setting the correct date. That’s a whole separate ritual, and I hope you’re prepared (you are likely a lazy thieving cvnt, given what you’re up to, so forgive the presumption).
This piece has more gears than a Swiss Army tank. The calendar mechanism’s main component is a labyrinthine array of levers and springs formed loosely in the shape of your cerebral cortex. Manipulating the crown will deliver vague suggestions to this array, which, in turn, will tickle small parts deep within the dark bowels of the movement. It is akin to playing a game of Jenga with toothpicks, and praying you find a configuration that works before your toddler shows up demanding swift involvement, at which point you might as well head off and find a blade to end all hopes of having a spare moment to yourself. Anyway, I digress…
If you are successful in setting the correct date (there is a microscopic manual engraved on the caseback; they say Swiss watchmakers don’t have a sense of humour), congratulations. You may now attempt to set the correct time.
Do not become emboldened by your progress, as you will quickly need to operate the chronograph. Ming’s marketing department is more communicative than the pushers you will be trusting to aid your efforts. Depress the top right pusher as you would in any chronograph and watch the central seconds hand sprint around the dial. Now you will become adrift in the zone known to early Patek owners as “Horological Purgatory” and your quest will be to set the correct date, day, month, and leap year. Prepare yourself for a ten-hour-or-so adventure.
Do not push the split-seconds pusher in the crown, as you will only find the rattrapante function waiting there to mock you with a shriek of high-speed gear teeth machining themselves into round cylinders. Should you hear this noise, retreat immediately to the only easy spot to find in this watch: the time-only mode. This is a safe place, no real damage can occur here, but of course, no perpetual action will happen either. Not to worry, as this is a gimmick which happens to be relevant only once every 4 years, you’ll survive just fine.
Given the policeman viewing my camera in the study behind you is now cheering you on in your quest with throat-clearings of support and encouragement, you must press on. Most Patek owners at this point pull out a smartphone to check the date, either to a) avoid further humiliation; b) allow someone else to respond to the date query; or c) gather the courage for another calendar-setting attempt. You may choose to do the same.
If you don’t feel like you need a break, you may re-attempt the calendar-setting quest. This is how the watch mocks you for your lack of skill, but sometimes it is the only path forward. One trick that works is to stop the chronograph, pull out the crown, enter the aforementioned time-setting mode, and then rapidly wiggle the crown clockwise and counterclockwise. If you are quick enough, the movement will be outsmarted and cannot anticipate your next move. It is at this time that you should set the calendar, and most likely you will succeed. Surprise is your best weapon here.
The move to set the moon phase should be straightforward, as it’s the only easy complication in the damn thing. You should now be out of my house and on the main street. The moon phase will be good for 122 years, so I would advise you just leaving it as you found it. Trying to operate anything now will only frustrate you and nearby pedestrians (refer to calendar setting for a reminder).
You don’t need to check the power reserve. Once you’re done with all the instructions, it will be full, but as I already mentioned, the mysterious power drain cannot be helped. If it is night, and it most likely will be quite soon, you will need to use a light to read the time. I’ll leave it to you to find a suitable light source since I’ve helped a lot so far.
By now you’ve certainly noticed the smell. That is the aroma of my vintage leather strap being slowly cooked by your wrist heat, which was cleverly encased by the factory with a second layer of oil-infused alligator skin. It was filled with natural oils during my last wear, and you are now operating a small thermal tannery that is making light short-chained vaporous hydrocarbons from what was once a $2000 strap by Atila Aszodi. They are being conveniently routed to your nostrils through carefully formed channels in the lugs, plus the microscopic cracks in the case provided by Father Time himself over the past couple of decades.
You’ll feel less dizzy if you loosen the strap. But mind that the locking clip on the deployant buckle does not work, so you’ll have to use the folding clasp halfway. Please be mindful not to ever say deployment, this watch is not suitable for military use. I say halfway in a manner that will become apparent once you try to get the clasp to lock fully, which it will refuse to do. Instead, simply leave it partially open and wear it along, as I did.
Knowing which street you’re probably on by now, you will be hitting crosswalks. Try as hard as you can to not bring your wrist to a stop. Since you can’t effectively shield the watch from bumps, use this to your advantage and don’t try. Remember: You certainly don’t want to have to reset the perpetual calendar.
If you have made it within sight of the park, don’t get any ideas about timing your jog. The balance wheel is severely magnetised and the deviation at heart rates above 120 bpm will crack the crystal and cause the hands to fall off by themselves. So, stay at a leisurely stroll, pedestrian crossing lights notwithstanding.
It may be at this point that you consider abandoning the watch to avoid further calamity. There is a pawn shop right before the park entrance. The last guy who stole this watch used this very spot and it was rather convenient for all parties. I suggest you ditch the watch there and look out for a nice Richard Mille to steal from an Arab passerby.
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Hahahahhahahaah
This was funny :) have certain visuals in mind, if I remember what’s that, I’ll send a link. I think it’s some advertising from 15-20 years ago