A man dressed in a strange combination of colours and styles stood in front of a shelf full of different types of loaves of bread. He wore an old pair of Levi's jeans, a Hawaiian shirt, a pair of stylish black loafers and an ivy cap from a previous century. No one seemed to care for this mix-match wardrobe, a postmodern mess if one ever saw one. But this choice was not a conscious one, as the man standing paralysed in front of the shelf of loaves of bread could not choose what clothes to wear to the shop. Now, he is contemplating the different brands of bread he can choose from. The inner monologue turned into explicit articulation.
"The yellow bag symbolises the joy I felt this morning," the man in the ivy cap said out loud in a moment of inner contemplation and conflict.
"That is such an odd thing to say," an old lady said as she picked the exact yellow bag of bread the man in the ivy cap pointed at.
He turns his head to look at her, not realising that someone was standing next to him nor realising that he spoke out loud. "You know, I do not understand why they give us all these choices. I just sometimes feel so overwhelmed by what to do."
The old lady looked at him like he has lost his mind. But she made an effort to reply to him. "It's as easy as picking a bag and not thinking about it," she said and walked away before he could answer.
He did not seem to realise that she was gone. "Not thinking about it? What do you mean? When you reach out to grab a bag you need to have contemplated the myriad small things that influence that choice," he looked at her empty space realising only afterwards that she was not standing next to him. He was alone again.
The inner monologue continued. The blue might not go well with the colourful shirt I am wearing, he thought. He did not even pick up the loaf of bread. He reached to pick up the loaf in the purple bag but stopped midway. He contemplated the different bags and walked to the counter of freshly baked breads. An assortment of different breads lay on tables like pyramids. He saw the lady working behind the counter and asked her which of the bread was freshly baked.
"All of them," she said with a smile, trying to be friendly after being on her feet the whole day.
"Which ones go the best with a meat dish," he asked whilst contemplating the various colours and shapes.
"I have no idea, mister. But most people just buy the rustic loaves."
She pointed to the oval-shaped bread with odd cracks here and there. It looked like dried clay that broke when not enough rain fell. He could see the weeds trying to grow through the cracks and it sent a strange feeling through his body he could not place.
"No, no, no, that won't work. What about this," he pointed to a loaf with way too much dry flour. It was not appealing by a long mile but it caught his eye. Something of the off-white colour appealed to him.
"That is the rye bread, mister."
If he was not so obsessed with the options stacked up in front of him, he would be able to detect the slight irritation in her voice. But he could not because the ideas in his mind flooded all rationality. In fact, he was too rational in this case, which itself became a sort of irrationality.
"You know, all of that extra flour on the exterior of the bread might not go so well with my meat dish. It will fall into the sauce and I do not like to eat the dry flour. No, that will also not work." He saw some of the bakers behind the lady rolling big trays of freshly baked buns. It was after all still early in the morning. "What are they taking out of the oven now?"
She did not even turn around, knowing the schedule by heart. She sighed before answering him in a flat tone. "Burger buns, sesame and no sesame."
"You know, since this morning something strange happened to me. I cannot place it. First, I could not decide which coffee to drink. Did I want the quick instant coffee or an espresso? I could not decide, because I then saw the French press and the pour-over and the AeroPress. I did not know which one to pick. So I just got some coffee at the local McDonalds. I then ended up in front of the bread shelf and I could not decide which one to take." He pointed to the bread shelf but she did not look. She did not listen to the story he was telling. In the meantime, she helped another customer.
"The ciabatta is always a winner," a young lady said. She was sweaty, clearly coming from the gym. She smiled and he smiled back.
"Funny you should mention that," he began. He looked at the lady behind the counter. "The ciabatta sounds nice."
She sighed her usual sigh indicating her lack of interest in the man's indecision. She gave him the bread and walked to another customer. The lady in her gym clothes smiled and walked away.
Standing with the bread in his hands, he walked to the shelf with the loaves in different coloured bags. He looked at the bag in his hands, a bland paper bag with a price tag. He looked at various colours in front of him and he felt a strange sensation to grab the yellow bag instead of the brown bag he was holding in his hands. He put the paper bag down next to the purple bags. He grabbed at the yellow bag and was again struck by the feeling that this colour might not go so well with the colourful shirt he was wearing.
"If life was not so difficult," he said out loud, a strange frustration contrasted against his usual calm demeanour. He was alone and no one saw him standing in front of the shelve drenched in his frustration. "Arrgh."
He turned around looking at the aisle leading deeper into the store. He pulled a shopping list from his back pocket and looked at the numbered items. He made a question mark next to Bread. "Next, meat."
***
The same indecision befell him as he stood in front of the shelves of different meats each with different cuts. He picked up the pork belly without bones. He looked at the pink meat and then at the one next to the one he picked up. With bone. He did not have time to pick the bones from the meat, so boneless was definitely better. But what about the extra flavour the bone could impart into the stew? But pork was not so healthy, with all the fat and were they even free range and humanely handled? He put down the bag of pork meat and walked to the beef. A myriad of options lay in front of him. Before he could even contemplate the different options further, he looked at the shopping list and made another question mark. He put it back into his pocket and walked to the next aisle where all of the milk jugs were displayed.
***
He left the store not buying anything, sitting in the car outside of the shopping centre with his hands on the steering wheel. "This was a good day," he said through his clenching teeth. The shopping list burned in his back pocket. "It was that yellow. That particular yellow. I could not. I mean, it would clash with my shirt and who can have that? And the pork. Who even eats pork nowadays in any case."
Someone saw him sitting in his car, thinking that he was going to leave. The angry shopper pressed her car horn and it snapped him out of it. He opened the door and walked to the unsuspected angry shopper. Her window was luckily open.
"You know, I have actually no idea what I am doing here," he said to the angry shopper who clearly did not want to hear this nonsense.
"What are you even talking about? Are you going to leave?"
"No, or yes. I am not sure actually. I could stay or-"
She drove off before he could finish his sentence. He stood looking back at the shopping centre, pulling the shopping list from his back pocket.
"I need to buy some bread."
The idea is a popular one in philosophy albeit kind of whacky and unproven. But the basic gist is that too much choice leaves one unable to choose. But this has been studied outside of philosophy and the evidence is not there to support the thesis. But the idea is an interesting one. This morning I found an old note on my phone outlining this story. I have never written it. So I decided I needed to write it down.
In any case, I hope you liked this story. It is a bit longer than usual, but I liked how it turned out. Please let me know what you think!
For now, happy reading and stay well.
The photographs are my own, taken with my Nikon D3200. The writings and story are my own albeit based on a very old note I found on my phone that I made many moons ago. The idea behind indecision leading to paralysis is mentioned by many authors but particularly the psychologist/author Barry Schwartz in his book The Paradox of Choice – Why More Is Less.
