Dostoevsky's Underground Man claims that an excessive consciousness is a disease that leads to a certain level of inertia. I agree! Hail to inertia! Hamlet allusions of the world unite!
Take One:
I'm rolling my cart up to the check-out aisles at Jewel-Osco. I am assessing the possibilities. I choose the self-checkout aisle because I'm a do-it-yourself (sometimes-just-to-avoid-additional-random-human-contact) kind of guy, so I sit there and debate between the two self-checkout aisles. #22 has a middle-aged woman who appears competent and nobody behind her, but she has a full cart and there's definitely a defeatist look about her; #23 has three young couples all blissfully holding hands and very few groceries. Hmmmm. I ponder, allowing three people to slide in front of me. I could glare at them, though it's not their fault. I could kindly ask the woman if she's "gonna be awhile" to better inform my decision. I do neither and go with #22.
35 minutes later I am still cursing my decision, my deliberation, my gut feelings, my instincts. The middle aged lady was literally trying to run off with her cucumbers because she couldn't properly weigh and pay. I watched her, wondering that if I offered to help, I may appear rude and impatient, which I was. So I decided to just be impatient. Should I have pondered further? All those lovebirds in #23 came and went while I stood there watching my soda go flat. I don't know. But I can tell you this, the excessive consciousness definitely doesn't help after the fact either.
Cheers.
