staircase II (Photo credit: josef.stuefer)
The decision he was faced with making was ultimate; there was no turning back from this one. He felt as though choosing one over the other was not only favoritism, but the brutal slaying of an option near and dear to him.
“I just don’t know,” he exclaimed.
Every day, he was bogged down by the decision-making process, and he had developed a reputation for being unreliable because of it. The options were in front of him, staring at him eagerly, the winner waiting to be chosen.
“This is the last time I will make this decision.”
He walked back to his apartment, counting each stair as he ascended. He lost count once and had to return to the ground floor to restart his count. He’d gotten better, over the last few months, at making only one counting error per trip, which had greatly reduced the amount of time he had to allow for himself to get anywhere.
He opened the apartment door and was met with a familiar blast of air; a comforting aroma that instantly informed him that he was home. The outside world faded away and he was at peace. It was a peace, however, that was interrupted by the also familiar screeching of his neighbor’s baby. He wondered when his neighbor’s sister was coming again with more delicious pastries, or even a cake. He thought her baking tasted of sunshine.
He retrieved the ultimate decision-making item from his closet and returned to the parking garage.
“One last time,” he said, dramatically. “One last time,” he said again, equally dramatic.
The two paths were still smiling at him, waiting to be chosen. He was not smiling.
“I’m sorry it had to come this, but my indecision ends today.”
Their smiles didn’t change, though they saw what was coming. They were his children. He had spent hours upon hours with each of them, giving them nothing but love and attention. He had rescued them both from certain doom, and adopted them into his heart, but they felt nothing. They were indifferent to his affections, as vehicles usually are.
“So, do I take the sloppy jalopy to work, or the tank?” The ultimate question, defined. He closed his eyes and raised the bazooka. A tear fell down his cheek. The missile erupted out of the chamber and decimated its target.
He was late. The second trip up the stairs to his apartment had really cut into his day. He set his mind to either conquering his OCD or to start taking the elevator. The decision would be tough, but he had a fool-proof method of decision-making at his disposal. At any rate, he didn’t have time to make the decision now. He climbed into the tank and drove to work, brainstorming new excuses as to why he was late.
