I've always had difficulty with binary choices. Whenever I found myself between two choices, it felt as though I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. How could it be that life, an expanse of infinite possibilities, could boil down to a fork in the road? To my surprise, that fork always appeared at the most unlikely place and at the most unexpected time.

I pondered the question as I held two loaves of bread in my hands: one white and one whole wheat. I had been shopping in the back of Conway’s convenience store for my weekly bread as per usual. I had a problem though–– both loaves were the same price.

Ordinarily, one would expect one variant had to be superior than the other. However, Conway’s bread transcended simple market principles. White bread tasted like sweet nectar, drawn from the fruits of an untouched forest. Whole wheat assorted the world’s richest grains in a golden brown crown. White brought back memories of an idyllic childhood; the other brought visions of a wealthy future in which fine foods were always served on a silver plate. I couldn’t possibly choose both. A loaf would’ve gone stale in a week, abandoned to depreciate unappreciated. At the same time, I was not about to go home on a Saturday night without my bread! So then, which would I––?

"THIS IS A ROBBERY!"

I spun around and stared down the aisles. At the counter, a man in an olive green raincoat stood his ground against the cashier. In his hand, he held a pistol as black as obsidian. One rattle of its clip demanded the attention of all in the store… so really just me and the cashier.

The cashier, a middle-aged man with an agape expression, wordlessly complied with robbery protocol. He opened the cash register and began placing stacks of dollar bills on the glass counter.

Eventually, I came back to my senses and saw the wisdom in getting out of the open. I gently placed both loaves down on a nearby shelf and crouched behind a coldbox. An aisle away, the robber had his gun pointed at his hapless victim, but his back was turned toward me. He hadn’t noticed me on his way in! I could sneak up…  and do something, maybe…

Dear lord, what was I thinking? This wasn't the movies–– I wasn't capable of fighting armed evildoers with my bare hands like Liam Neeson! My arms were made for praying and carrying bread, not for knocking out armed gunmen.

But wasn’t that exactly what the heroes did on those television news segments? I could swoop in, save the day, and then grab my bread and head home! A foolproof plan with zero chance of ending up with a bullet in my brains! Of course I’m joking; that’s a terrible plan. But it’s either that or become a bystander, practically an accomplice to the act.

Shoot, I just waltzed into a binary decision.

Surely, my surroundings had to offer a third option. On my right, a row of window panes stood as the sole barrier between Conway’s bastion of light and the unending darkness of the forest outside. The road here was desolate–– not a single headlight to be seen. On my left, the shelves were lined with the finest weaponry a convenience store could offer: blunt soda bottles, king-sized potato chip bags, wondrous beef jerky, sturdy gallons of detergent. In terms of actual weaponry, there was nothing of use. Angus MacGyver might have been able to make a shotgun with this stuff, given the crazy contraptions he made in the television show, but I was not about to chance a bullet fighting gunmen with soda and detergent.

I was wasting my time. Between losing my life tonight and living to eat bread another day, I would be smart to stay quiet and let the robbery happen. I was just a bystander! Someone else could deal with the robber!

But if no one else could, I would be responsible for letting the opportunity to intervene pass. I was the bystander, a sinner by another name. With strong arms and weapons or with nothing at all, a hero, a saint, was needed at Conway’s to dispense justice. It was my calling. I could certainly knock him out… hopefully.

“T-that’s all the money in the register!” the cashier stuttered. I was out of time. The decision had been made for me.
The robber snickered to himself as he began piling the cash into a trash bag. I had no way of confirming from this angle, but I knew he was grinning like a winner. He spoke without shame or doubt, “Good catch, but I’m not walking away until I have the mother lode. Where’s your safe?” As though one cash grab were not enough to satisfy his greenback appetite, he was reaching for seconds!

The cashier went wide-eyed. “B-but we don’t have a safe!”––he gave pause as the gun rattled its malevolent chime––“Right this way…” Under the gaze of a gun barrel, the cashier made slow steps out from behind the counter. He disappeared behind an aisle, the gunman still tracking his movements with the weapon. Not long after, both men were walking out of view.
Stay or follow? I still preferred cowardly survival over certain death. However, my opportunity was still there–– my second chance to do what was needed. Time ran against me as the cashier accessed the safe. I couldn’t let that opportunity slip away again.

I untied my shoes and placed them on the coldbox, so that my steps would be masked. Making my way around the aisles in the back of the store, I was a ninja gliding into position for the kill. But who was I kidding? I was more a cat on ice, mulling over the inevitable moment when my paws would give out.

The next three aisles offered nothing new: soda cans of two rival brands, hygienic products of two rival brands, chocolates of, surprise, two rival brands. This junk wasn’t worth choosing from anyway. Around the bend of the third aisle, I saw the old cashier. His hands were trembling with the keys, playing a chaotic jingle as he looked for the correct one. A dial and a key lock were all that stood between the robber and the ‘mother lode.’

If there was a moment to strike down the robber, it was now! But I still had no weapon. Surely, it was a fool’s folly to confront his enemy unarmed. I was no hero without martial arts, no crusader without a sword, and no MacGyver without an imagination. What was I then–– a mere breadwinner who couldn’t pick between two variants of bread?

The cashier’s hands fell on the dial and began turning the knob. Each number passed on the rotations elicited a sharp click, as though ticking away like a bomb over my head. I still hesitated even when I claimed I had my conviction! It was now or never: live a bystander or rise a hero (with the slightest chance of dying)!

I had one foot out of my hiding place in the back of the store before I began to see what a bad idea this was. I couldn’t just treat this like any ordinary choice, when the consequences involved the end of my life! It would be akin to making a highlander charge into a firing squad. I couldn’t do it! I would rather be among the cowards, on the safest path.

At that moment, the doors chimed. Heavy steps hit the floor, turning all attention to the new visitor. Stretching my neck over a basket of tangerines, I caught sight of the hapless shopper. A red shirt big game hunter stopped in his tracks, undoubtedly staring down the robber’s pistol. It was strange to see this titan of a man, who wore the face of a bear-puncher and the beard of an Appalachian lumberjack, freeze on the spot–– a doe between crosshairs, staring its killer in the eyes.

“Don’t try nothing… or something, big fellow,” the robber said with a brief hiccup in his cold confidence. The intrusion had thrown him off his mojo, yet the gun in hand more than made up for his temporary weakness. The bullet in the chamber held all the power in Conway’s convenience store. “You listening well?”

To the hunter’s credit, he knew to stay silent. He nodded in response.

“Good.” The robber briefly looked at the cashier and glared him into continuing with the dial. He was back to squaring with the hunter in a blink of an eye. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to exit this store. Then, you’ll enter your truck and drive away. As far as you’ll know, this never happened. Got it?”

The robber threw in a rattle as punctuation to his demands. Sure enough, it worked. The hunter began a slow backpedal the way he had come, not even hesitating… not even thinking about what role he would have in this crime. There was a single chime as the door was opened; behind it, the hunter disappeared into the night with a gun barrel tracking his exit.

As I heard the engine emit a stifled groan, my thoughts began rewinding to my pivotal moment of hesitation: someone else could deal with the robber… But what if that ‘someone else’ failed…? The store was basked in silence again. The truck and its driver were gone, having fled into the night without a second thought.

I alone could determine the outcome; the burden was mine.
Then came another rattle of the gun. The robber waved the weapon around with a snicker, celebrating his successful robbery prematurely. He radiated with glee as he sent the cashier back to work on the safe–– the fiend thought he was invincible! After all, not even the mighty hunter could stop him.

I fell back against the aisle, faced by a tribunal of cereal box mascots. My eyes wandered around the store, trying to keep their mocking smiles out of mind. So long as I did nothing, the robber’s master plan was guaranteed to unfurl perfectly. The bad guy wins.

My eyes came to rest on a far corner, and then I had my answer. After having struggled so long with this binary equation, I finally had the mathematician's foolproof solution–– clarity came at last. So long as I took action… there was a chance for his plan to fail. All I needed to do was take a chance.

The time of idleness was over. Binary choices didn’t wait for anyone. I crawled over to the corner as swiftly as my ninja Che would let me. In my grasp, I had it–– the tool of conviction! The handle felt steadfast and adamant in my palms; its length weighed with blunt strength. It was a broom!

“I j–just have to put in this key, and you’ll have what you want!” the cashier hastily commented. He need not wait much longer, because this hero was already slinking up the aisle. I held my broom as I would a spear or sword; I wouldn’t let my conviction slip away, not once while I still breathed. I had made my choice; now, I had to follow through completely.

The robber heard nothing, too wrapped up in his greenback fantasy to notice my approach. So close was I that I could hear his anxious breathing and make out the slightest tremble in his gun-wielding hand. The key jingled one last time before the moan of a heavy door escaped the safe. The cashier unveiled the cache’s valuables just as I made it within striking distance.

The cashier stepped aside, eyes turned toward the ground. I lifted the broom above my head, eyes turned toward the top of the robber’s hood. The robber exhaled in relieved joy; I inhaled in tense anticipation. There was only one course of action left to take.

“Perfect,” he whispered. Then my arms swung downwards. The moment of contact became suspended in time–– almost as though to pronounce the finality of my choice. There was a sharp crack as the broom met the hood of the robber.I did it. I conquered the binary dilemma: the question of whether I would be a bystander or a hero. With complete certainty, I was the hero. 

“OW! WHO THE––” the robber shouted. I snapped back to attention. Only now, I was standing with half a broom, the other half having snapped off at the moment of my strike. I looked down and watched the broken handle clatter to the floor with a hollow thud. When I looked back up, I was staring into blackness–– the inside of a gun barrel.

Well, I had a second to say my prayers: hail Mary, full of grace… and I was still standing. The robber had gone still, eyes rolled into the back of his skull. The pistol fell away; its wielder followed soon after, collapsing into a heap on the floor.

“Nice work distracting him,” the cashier said. He held a baseball bat in his hands, a more applicable weapon for knocking out gunmen than a broom. With a smirk, the cashier scooped the pistol out of the robber’s hand and gently placed it in the open safe. “I’ll call the sheriff to bring this guy in… for all your help, I’m going to reward you with your choice of any good in this store. On the house.”

He must have seen how wide my eyes got. The next thing he said had been ripped right out my own thoughts: “Yes, even that bread you keep coming back for!” I barely thought any more of it. Sure, stopping robbers and being a hero was great, but free stuff was a better reward than anything moralistic!

The cashier threw the bat into the safe and locked the door. After muttering something about non-existent security, he was back behind the counter, returning the stolen money to the register. The click of the open register sent me off to the back of the store. Through the aisles and junk products, I ran right past the coldbox to where I had left my loaves of bread. At last, I had my bread!

Of course, I couldn’t bring them both home. One would go stale in a week. No, no. It had to one or the other: white or whole wheat. Fantastic–– another binary decision.