Thursday, September 30, 2010

Choice Cuts - September 2010

Remember when life was easy? When you didn’t have to choose between seven different kinds of turkey at the deli counter? When ordering coffee didn’t take half an hour? When fewer choices made life less complicated?

Witness:

“Do you want plastic AND paper?” the teenaged ShopRite cashier asked. “Sure,” I responded, not knowing I had that option. I thought the drill was paper OR plastic (except in Pathmark, where nary a paper bag can be found), so she threw me. Now I mostly bring my own bags – partly to be environmentally conscious and partly because I can’t make that choice.

The guy at the deli counter asks if the cheese is cut thin enough for my taste, and offers me a slice. Do I then dare voice a preference for thinner or thicker slices, and do I really have one? When I mentioned to a friend that I couldn’t get the slices apart, she declared, “I always have them shingle it.” Shingle it? I had never heard the term before, but I didn’t have to ask as I instinctively knew what she meant. I just didn’t know we had a choice to ask for it to be shingled for easier cheese access. (Speaking of cheese, the dumbest choice I was ever asked to make was in the Johnson & Johnson Corporate cafeteria, where, after ordering a grilled cheese sandwich, the guy behind the grill asked me, “Do you want cheese on that?” I replied, “Yes, I think you need to include the cheese, or we’re talking toast.” So that was one of the simpler decisions, but they aren’t usually that easy.)

At Quick Chek, just ordering a sandwich has become an adventure in self-service. You belly up to the computer, select your meat, then, by pressing the appropriate buttons, decide whether you want mayonnaise or a little mayonnaise, and all the other sandwich accompaniments, like salt, pepper, cheese or extra cheese, lettuce and tomato and who knows what else. I’m waiting for the computer to actually spit the finished product out at me, but, thankfully, creating the sandwich still requires an actual person. A friend of mine went to his local Wawa and proceeded to make the same sandwich choice day after day, until finally the sandwich maker refused to make one more of the same. I guess he had no choice but to change his sandwich selection.

“I’ll put your items in a double shopping bag,” the eager Williams Sonoma employee offered. “And do you want a handle to help carry it? Do you want your receipt in the bag?” “OK, thanks,” I replied, bewildered at the number of decisions we are asked to make each and every day. I thought just selecting my purchase was enough of a challenge.

At a restaurant (granted, a decent one), you are asked if you want water and whether tap or bottled is your preference (wet and in a glass is fine for me). And forget the wine list. Reading the latest John Grisham novel takes less time than wading through the phonebook-sized list to make your choice.

My refrigerator not only gives me cold water from the door, but makes me choose ice cubes or crushed ice. How to decide? Besides, the cubes look pretty crushed to me regardless of my choice.

Thankfully, I don’t drink coffee, because there seems to be an entire language one must master to order a double latte yada yada yada, a language and series of choices that would render me mute. And tea is no better. If you want tea at a decent restaurant, they bring that wooden box that looks like a pirate’s treasure chest and is filled not with doubloons but instead with herbal, breakfast, decaf and a myriad of other choices. Remember when tea was Lipton or Tetley? When sneakers were Keds or PF Flyers? When mustard was Gulden’s or French’s? I must have spent 20 minutes in the store the other day trying to decide whether my hand soap should be antibacterial, antibacterial with moisturizers or just moisturizing, and then I had to select a fragrance (apple, green tea, cool mint cucumber or citrus, among many) that wouldn’t make me hungry or nauseous. And you know how I feel about deciding among the dazzling array of skin lotions and potions.

I can’t even leave the house without making a decision. I have to choose between driving Gracie, my 13-year old Mercedes (she is doing fine, by the way), and her younger counterpart, Sunny, my 6-year old Chrysler Sebring convertible. Luckily, weather helps make that decision, but then, if I choose the convertible, I am faced with the decision of putting the top down or keeping it up. That choice depends on both weather and where I am going. No one at ShopRite cares if my hair has blown all over the place, but if I am headed to a meeting, I have to protect my hair, right?

When I am looking for new jeans, I not only have to find the right size, but I have to consider the variety of styles, from boot cut to high waist to fuller leg (guess which one I chose) and more, not counting the variety of shades of denim from which to choose. Thank goodness acid washed is now passé, since that helps narrow down the choices by one.

I can handle the choices at the diner, where I can quickly express my preference for a table or a booth (even though I have no logic for why I might prefer one over the other). I can go to a restaurant with outdoor seating and decide whether to sit inside or outside, depending on the weather. But with all the TV shows I watch, it is hard to decide what programs I want to see live and which others I should record on my two digital video recorders for later viewing. Back in the days when the remote control consisted of the youngest child in the house being ordered to get up and change the channel, deciding between channels 2-4-5-7-9-11 and the dreaded 13 was relatively easy. When Dad fell asleep on the couch, you made your move, hoping he wouldn’t awaken and bark, “I was watching that,” although his eyes were closed. With fewer choices – or none at all – life was considerably less complicated.

Hmm, I wonder what I should write about next month. Decisions, decisions.