Bertram Glottard's Moment of Decision
In the life of every person, there inevitably comes a moment of decision, a bold moment when all thoughts of caution must be thrown to the wind and a principled stand must be taken. For Mr. Bertram Glottard, a middle-aged man of humble outlook and unassuming character, this moment elected to make its arrival while he was standing directly in front of an eye-catching display in a shop that offered men's furnishings, descending on him as he fitfully attempted to decide between purchasing a pair of red socks or purchasing a pair of green socks.
Bertram knew that any decision made in such an instance could prove to be fateful, and could have a pronounced effect on the course of one's life. After all, was it not true that the worth of a man could easily be judged by the socks that he wore? (Bertram actually had never been entirely certain in regard to the wisdom of that particular question, but he generally preferred being safe to being sorry, and therefore was ill-disposed to take any chances.) So there he stood, in front of the display, holding one pair of red socks in his right hand and one pair of green socks in his left hand, trying to decide.
As Bertram's moment of decision extended in time, he grew more fearful of making the wrong choice. Which of the two pairs of socks should he choose for his purchase? Red socks or green socks? What sort of difficulties might befall him if he were to choose the wrong pair? The more that Bertram thought about it, the more he felt unable to make a choice, and the more he began to doubt that he would be able to make a choice of any kind, about anything at all, ever again. He soon became lightheaded, his mind teetering and threatening to crumble under the strain.
The moment stretched onward, as if the usual rules of time had been suspended. Bertram started to worry that he might faint. He stared at the display of socks, losing his nerve and becoming frozen in deep uncertainty where he stood, his mind pitching from one side to the other. Which pair of socks was it going to be? A pair of red socks or a pair of green socks? Then, out of sheer desperation, he suddenly was moved to solicit guidance, and turned to one of the other customers for advice.
"Excuse me, sir," Bertram said to the customer, who had a friendly face. "It seems that I am, for want of a better way of describing my unfortunate situation, experiencing what appears to be an overwhelming degree of trouble in fully making up my mind regarding the purchase of a pair of socks for myself, and I would, most earnestly, like to ask you a pertinent question. Should I buy red socks, or should I buy green socks?"
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can give you any help with that," the customer replied. "I've never been in the habit of including socks as part of my daily attire, so I've never formed much of an opinion on that particular subject."
Bertram let out a gentle sigh of despair on hearing this response, but he calmly thanked the friendly customer nonetheless, while continuing to look at the pair of red socks in his right hand and the pair of green socks in his left hand. His moment of decision had now stretched far beyond the accepted confines of reason, and clearly was on the verge of leaving him stranded within an eternity of confusion. He knew that it was necessary for him to make up his mind at once, in a manner that was final, before all was lost.
After Bertram had gathered what remained of his unsteady wits, he valiantly made his choice. A short while later, after paying for the single item that he had chosen from the display, he sauntered out of the shop, gently smiling to himself and holding a small bag, which contained his purchase: a pair of blue socks. Bertram always had liked blue more than he liked red or green, and he was quite pleased that his new socks were nearly the same shade of blue as the eyes of Minerva Dortz, a pretty girl who once had winked at him on a spring afternoon, eleven (or was it twelve?) years earlier.
Bertram knew that any decision made in such an instance could prove to be fateful, and could have a pronounced effect on the course of one's life. After all, was it not true that the worth of a man could easily be judged by the socks that he wore? (Bertram actually had never been entirely certain in regard to the wisdom of that particular question, but he generally preferred being safe to being sorry, and therefore was ill-disposed to take any chances.) So there he stood, in front of the display, holding one pair of red socks in his right hand and one pair of green socks in his left hand, trying to decide.
As Bertram's moment of decision extended in time, he grew more fearful of making the wrong choice. Which of the two pairs of socks should he choose for his purchase? Red socks or green socks? What sort of difficulties might befall him if he were to choose the wrong pair? The more that Bertram thought about it, the more he felt unable to make a choice, and the more he began to doubt that he would be able to make a choice of any kind, about anything at all, ever again. He soon became lightheaded, his mind teetering and threatening to crumble under the strain.
The moment stretched onward, as if the usual rules of time had been suspended. Bertram started to worry that he might faint. He stared at the display of socks, losing his nerve and becoming frozen in deep uncertainty where he stood, his mind pitching from one side to the other. Which pair of socks was it going to be? A pair of red socks or a pair of green socks? Then, out of sheer desperation, he suddenly was moved to solicit guidance, and turned to one of the other customers for advice.
"Excuse me, sir," Bertram said to the customer, who had a friendly face. "It seems that I am, for want of a better way of describing my unfortunate situation, experiencing what appears to be an overwhelming degree of trouble in fully making up my mind regarding the purchase of a pair of socks for myself, and I would, most earnestly, like to ask you a pertinent question. Should I buy red socks, or should I buy green socks?"
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can give you any help with that," the customer replied. "I've never been in the habit of including socks as part of my daily attire, so I've never formed much of an opinion on that particular subject."
Bertram let out a gentle sigh of despair on hearing this response, but he calmly thanked the friendly customer nonetheless, while continuing to look at the pair of red socks in his right hand and the pair of green socks in his left hand. His moment of decision had now stretched far beyond the accepted confines of reason, and clearly was on the verge of leaving him stranded within an eternity of confusion. He knew that it was necessary for him to make up his mind at once, in a manner that was final, before all was lost.
After Bertram had gathered what remained of his unsteady wits, he valiantly made his choice. A short while later, after paying for the single item that he had chosen from the display, he sauntered out of the shop, gently smiling to himself and holding a small bag, which contained his purchase: a pair of blue socks. Bertram always had liked blue more than he liked red or green, and he was quite pleased that his new socks were nearly the same shade of blue as the eyes of Minerva Dortz, a pretty girl who once had winked at him on a spring afternoon, eleven (or was it twelve?) years earlier.