93 Scoops

93 Scoops stood unassumingly between two other buildings of no consequence. 93 Scoops mattered more to the general public, to the workingman, to the child screaming for a treat, to the mother tending to that child, to everyone. 93 Scoops prevailed among the other competitors (if you could label them such) in town. 93 Scoops offered an overwhelming variety to the unsuspecting customer. 93 Scoops gave even the suspecting customer something with which to esteem. 93 Scoops provided the best selection, period. 93 Scoops was ice cream.

93 Scoops was empty.

This ice cream shop nestled between two buildings found itself un-nestled with customers. As in any arena, the stage of combat is always the area least occupied by combatants but most occupied by the tension surrounding the essence of action.

Cue the cashier. Fred, a student at an educational institution not relevant to the playing field, stood guard at the imposing barrier between seller and buyer. The barrier, fashioned of glass, contained ninety-three small tubs, ninety-two of which were filled with delicious ice cream. One flavor was missing. "Atomic Chocolate Chip" lacked the necessary reinforcements to report for duty. Fred had made a mental note to hound the freezer for the flavor gone AWOL, but the absence of business this hour greatly diminished the priority of such a note. He chose the more direct route of switching his setting to "counter polish" to pass the time. And "counter polish" he did, as in "polish the counter," not "do something that would counteract the act of polishing."

To alleviate the stultifying weight of such a task, Fred alternated between polishing and "smoothing." Although smoothing was far from soothing, smoothing served an aesthetic purpose. Very few customers relished the sight of the ice cream surfaces in the tubs ravaged and scarred by the savage strafing runs of cold-hearted ice cream scoops. Using some random, flat, plastic instrument, Fred would assuage those deep wounds by evening out the ice cream, thus restoring its virgin, undisturbed state. Recreating that tranquility proved to be a light task in the instances of rarely disturbed flavors such as "Licentious Licorice," "Apricot Exuberance," and "Wishes of Watermelon." Heavy favorites like "Quadruple Chocolate Quandary," "Vexed by Vanilla," and "Brownie vs. Cookie Dough" were in a gutted state of perpetual and violent near-emptiness, making the smoothing process decidedly not so smooth.

It was noon. Fred was bored.

At times, the job flustered him, bringing with it a regular onslaught of consumers consumed with consuming. The only solace he found in the midst of the barrage was the regularity thereof. With this regularity came regulars. Most regulars were just that: regular. With them, they brought their regular orders, at regular times, regularly. Not that there was anything regular about the people themselves or with their orders, but even that which was irregular regularly enough soon become regular.

For example, the man with the blue sweater and round glasses arrived every other day at around 6:36 in the evening (so Fred had calculated, considering that the man never visited before 6:30, never after 6:42). The order most irregular: two scoops of "Very Berry Variable" in a blueberry waffle cone. Regularly. Without fail. Mrs. Brownbag never ordered the same thing twice. Fred prided himself on the fact that his predictions of her orders had an accuracy of 32 percent. Irregular buying patterns, regular for Mrs. Brownbag. The man in the black on black never knew what he wanted, but he always settled on "Banana Bombshell." Regularly. Mr. "Two-for-one" regularly ordered one scoop but regularly changed his mind, asking for two scoops right after Fred had just given him one. Fred attempted in vain to just give him two scoops straight away, but that regularly perturbed Mr. "Two-for-one." These and many other regulars (Bob for Breaks, Mr. and Mrs. Tandemfoot, DJ Vanilla, Boys eating boysenberry, to name a few) added to the irregular regularity.

However, spells of consumerist absence were highly irregular yet blissfully so. This Saturday brought with it an oddly repellent attitude toward ice cream. While the abundance of ice cream deterred many, it allured Fred. The vast array of ice cream, the rows of delectable dessert standing at the ready on display awed all but the most hardened soul. With most people, the intimidation of choice never wore off, and the abundance of selections did not seem to diminish in abundance. Those ninety-three flavors were an ocean. No matter how finite they truly were, they never came across to anyone as a chartable expanse. Fred had yet to resolve why ninety-three flavors cast an illusion of grandeur, as opposed to say, thirty-one. Fred's speculation in this matter involved that murky line dividing the finite and the apparent infinite. There had to be a measurable threshold of finite measure in which the mind starts to render the finite infinite. He had no practical way to test this during his work hours. All he knew was that the lack of one flavor did little to mar the magnitude of the ice cream selection. Infinity minus one is apparently still infinity.

Infinitude was Fred's secondary concern. His primary focus, in between working and pretending to work, lay in the concept of choice. Fred, being less a mathematician and more a speculative inquisitor de rerum natura, concluded that there was a set limit surrounding the choice of ninety-three different ice creams. Factoring in the duplicity of flavors, scoops, the various sizes, cones, and the occasional topping would yield a substantial number of choices possible. Fred's math major buddy had not gotten back to him with the answer.

During the polishing, each wayward glance toward that ice cream would bring those haunting questions to the forefront of Fred's mind. What is it that makes people choose a certain flavor? Why, if not all flavors have been equally tested, do people not strive to determine which flavor they prefer? How many choices are inherently present in the choice from ninety-three? Are there ninety-two non-choices being made subconsciously with each affirmative choice? Can all ninety-three flavors be considered on a simultaneous, linear plane? Or is the process but a systematic elimination? How much of a choice is "narrowing down the choices?" Can there be any less choice than the total sum of the choices that could be tangibly conceived? Is the choice inherently predetermined as soon as a customer enters with the intent to buy ice cream? Inquires like these seemed to be lost on a customer coming in, who looked for nothing more than to satisfy his appetite for ice cream.

Enter the customer. He stepped inside. His expression revealed a hint of pleasant surprise, but he appeared unalarmed by the alarming lack of ice-cream gobblers. It was half past noon.

He strode to the counter deliberately, peering around as if to confirm his suspicion that he was the only customer in the building at present. The isolation did not seem to trouble him terribly. He just smiled.

Fred continued his work, polishing the counter like an automaton. He waited carefully until the customer had reached a certain point before he would utter a customary welcome. Balancing the performance of a mindless task and the feigned ignorance of a customer took delicate effort. Fred did not favor greeting a customer as soon as he entered the door, situated 20 or so feet away. It seemed a tad too awkward to holler a greeting to someone that far away, empty store or not. In this case, fortune favored the shy, as the customer did not seem to mind the absence of greeting. Fred looked busy, and the customer took his time walking to the counter.

The time came; the man was close enough. Fred put the routine labor on hold.

"How can I help you today, sir?"

Fred had a varied repertoire of greetings and salutations on hand. "What'll it be from ninety-three?" didn't last a week. "What can I get for you?" didn't seem appropriate today. "What can I do for you?" had too many times emerged as "What can I do you for?" And "Welcome to 93 Scoops. Can I interest you in (insert random flavor)?" was met with a cold "no." Fred fell back on the relative safety of today's greeting.

Normally, the customer will spout off a choice or spout off a directive ordering Fred to wait for a decision. This latest customer, decked in a corduroy jacket and semi-nice-looking dress pants, looked down, his eyes ping-ponging at the veritable variety of ice cream. He then brought up his eyes to Fred, then stared for a half-second too long

"I don't know. How can you help me?"

That inquiry stank of snark, and Fred tended to not like the snarky breed. The man's closely cropped goatee, the Euro glasses, and the intentionally unkempt hair: it all reeked of the proverbial highbrow who came into 93 Scoops with unreasonable intent. Fred tended not to like that breed either.

"Right, " Fred muttered. He was about to let the customer know that he had plenty of time to decide, hoping instead that he would decide to leave.

"No, I'm serious. There are so many choices facing me here. Ultimately, I can choose but one, can I not?" he replied.

Such words played like music to Fred's ears. Ten seconds ago, this consumer would be an irritant pest soon gone. Now he became almost what Fred had been hoping for, someone showing a shred of interest in making a choice, or choices.

"Well," Fred started, "we have ninety-three choices. It's ninety-two today, so I hope you don't like 'Atomic Chocolate Chip.' We actually-"

"I don't fancy it, but go on."

"Well, we're out of that, but we do have plenty of others to choose from."

"Plenty of what? Choices or ice cream?" he inquired.

This must have been a dream. Fred felt more engaged by this with each passing second. Someone concerned with choice had chosen to cross his path.

"Well, both really. I mean, with all of the many flavors we have here, there are inherently many choices." Fred felt a tinge of pride with this quick summoning of the thoughts he had long ago concocted.

The customer smiled whimsically. "Not necessarily, my friend. The plenitude of ice creams does not a plenitude of choices make. We have here ninety-two distinct entities that can be chosen on an individual level. The potential choices of these specific entities, namely ice cream flavors, could number ninety-two and beyond, but really, you cannot make anywhere near what you would consider to be 'an inherent many choices.' In fact, the only feasible way I could substantiate that claim is to select all ninety-two flavors on hand. And even then, the sum of those individual choices could be reduced to something less than that 'many' choices, perhaps just one."

Fred took a moment to let this reasoning permeate his brain. "True, but when we refer to specific instances in which a yes or no choice is to be made, we have a great many choices to be made, whether we know it or not. Since we have ninety-two flavors to choose from, each flavor demands that it either be chosen or not chosen."

"Well, you make too much of the distinction there between the positive and negative relationship of a choice. Are you attempting to posit that the instance in which something is not chosen is predetermined by an already resolved decision to not choose, rather than the omission of the option spurred by the choice to choose some other entity?"

Fred paused. That last question needed to roll around in his head before he manufactured an answer. Polishing and smoothing did very little to polish or smooth the mental faculties.

"Yes. I believe that, uh, I believe that, with every choice made to choose something, there is a subconscious set of passive choices that 'deselect' the other options."

Fred debated not to win, but to use this discussion as a springboard of exploration. A fresh viewpoint would sharpen the mind. The customer pinched the uttermost tip of his goatee.

"You think, then, that for every one choice made affirmatively, there are a host of other choices that are made negatively, only in a passive, not active, sense. Would this be applicable only to a finite set and/or subset of choices, or are you suggesting that we consciously define a finite value only by subconsciously denying a set of infinite values?"

While not the slowest thinker, Fred soon realized that he needed to be more deliberate with his argumentation. His "foe" had clearly prepared for such exercises as these, or he may just have been adept at "long dagger" thinking, the type of thinking that was quick, deep, and efficient. So far, the customer supposed that many choices could be narrowed down to one, or that many choices ultimately manifested themselves as only a few choices. He also questioned the notion of passive, negative choices, or perhaps the degree to which they could be made. Now the focus was on infinite or finite sets.

"I'm suggesting that we don't lump all of the choices into sets. I mean, let's look at the ice cream selection here. I know I'm cheating here with a defined set of ninety-two, but let's just consider one choice finite, and the rest of the choices infinite, ok?"

"Ok. Go on."

Fred went on. "With each conscious choice of a certain ice cream flavor, you are, whether you know it or not, performing the act of choosing only one flavor, while at the same time choosing to decline ninety-two other flavors. The active choice selects one, whereas the passive choices select everything else, in this case, ninety-two different flavors. Instead of cancelling out the ninety-two flavors as the flavors not chosen, they are instead 'un-chosen.' We do not come to our choice simply by not choosing the other options. I'd say that we both select one option and choose to decline a host of others to reach our synthesis."

The customer nodded. He seemed to resist the need to adjust his glasses, a rare trait among intelligent glasses wearers. "What then, occurs during the process of choice in that sense? When do you subconsciously make those non-choices? While deliberating what to actively choose? Perhaps the build-up to the one active choice is actually spent on systematically and subconsciously eliminating, or not choosing other options. I would put forth that the active choice is made at one discrete moment. Any and all debate, questioning, what we consider 'choosing,' is utilized for the casting out of other options to infinity and back. Or so we could suppose. Then again, we may, in the act of choosing, do more not to choose, thus leaving us left with only one choice, our active choice. In that event, the active choices are the choices against such things, and the passive the choice for what remains. Keep in mind that which is greater. The choices we choose not to make, or the choice we eventually make?"

Fred felt a chill, not from the freezer, for that was a familiar chill. A new aura emerged ever so slowly in this arena. Cashier and customer locked horns in a ponderous discussion of the palpably improbable. Yet it ever revolved around things in the probable realm, no doubt. Fred immersed himself in this notion of choice, ignoring all but his ninety-two flavors, his customer, and the expanse of choice and the nature thereof. Surrounding him in a haze surreal, he imagined himself being chosen to grasp at every loose thread binding up the moody enigma of chance itself. He had been paired with yet another unsuspecting partner, inextricably linked to a higher purpose, to discover what it is that involves choice. Elimination, evaluation, decision, solution, selection. Finite and infinite. Choosing and not choosing. He would render the unrenderable ephemera of choice into something tangible, something that could be resolved once and for all. In an ice cream shop, no less.

The gaping maw of the infinite opened wide, revealing a faint taste of something so distant, so incomprehensible, and yet maybe neatly woven into the decision-making fabric. Could something as simple as a choice be a visible inverse to an invisible denial of infinite combinations? This breath of infinity could be but a portentous air that inflates the flaccid balloon of choice. The thought of an overriding converse struck Fred with a thud.

"Wait, wouldn't a choice-of-one, rejection-of-infinite system of choice carry with it the converse of infinity and nothing? The only plausible way to reject an infinite volume of possibilities is to reject them all outright, correct?"

The customer shrugged. "You failed to recall that the outright rejection of all of the choice is actually embracing one very specific choice, namely, choosing the wholesale rejection. In my framework, as I see it, I can reject all my options by choosing that one decision of rejection. Choosing absolutely nothing is an independent choice."

Fred peeked out at his flock of ice creams. The thoughts of not choosing ice cream at all actually being a choice, the wholesale rejection of the possibility of possibilities with each choice, and the ever-nearing decipherment of choice began swirling in his head like the swirls of chocolate florabundant in "Cyclonic Choco-Swirl."

Just then, he caught the sight of two familiar and decidedly regular customers: Soccer Mom and Son. Fred had this one down. "Billowing Marshmallow" and a half and half of "Turtle Club" and "Chaotic Caramel." Sure enough, they ordered the usual, and Fred served it up with the fervor of one seeking to retain the essence of a fleeting moment. The conversational customer was still in the process of choosing as the mother and son found a table near a window to enjoy their ice cream. The foray into choice continued.

"Well," Fred continued, "since we don't have the luxury of computing an infinite set of choices, is it plausible to exist on its existence? More often than not, we only deal with a finite set of circumstances, which would negate the need to cast out any infinitudes along the way for a practical purpose. In fact, oftentimes the infinite that comes about is only related to extraneous matters in settling on a choice. For instance, you're looking at ninety-two ice cream flavors right now. Our workable set is only going to involve a primary ninety-two flavors, barring a second, third, or fourth scoop." Fred grasped that the infinite cannot be defined within certain finite sets. Those choices and systems of choice could grapple with the infinite in theory, but when the whole thing came crashing back down to Earth, a finite set landed as just that: a finite set. Yet there had to be a trace of the infinite within the finite choices within finite parameters.

The customer glossed over the ice cream yet again, parking his gaze on "Peanut Buttery Mega Munch," and "Cherry Blossom."

He said, "Well, when it comes to a finite, limited set, there is scant little need to introduce infinity. When evaluating a choice that emerges from a pool not delineated, then I suppose the infinite must be considered. You and I both find ourselves preoccupied with the nature of choosing within a finite realm, correct?"

"In a way, yes. See, when I observe customers and their ice cream buying habits, I always wonder what goes on in the gearbox of the mind that leads them to their ultimate choice. I have the same 'problem,' if you will. But I work here. I've taken the time to try all ninety-three flavors. So when I choose a favorite, I make a very educated choice."

"Which is?"

"Oh, 'Sherbet Supreme.' No question."

The customer shook his head. "That's, that's almost---"

"Almost what?"

"That seems like cheating."

"How so?"

"You put yourself in a position to make a choice in which you knew all the outcomes. Thus, you have exhausted your possibilities and chosen accordingly. However, at the moment that you tried the very last flavor that you did not favor, you made one final choice, namely, the choice that ultimately favored 'Sherbet Supreme.' Every time you choose that flavor, you don't choose it out of ninety-three anymore. That flavor has already been chosen. It has been firmly selected as your overall preference. You simply choose whether to partake or not to partake of it."

Fred nodded in solemn amazement, glancing downward in a reflex gesture of admiration. Astute words, indeed. The glaring swath of ice cream to him was a map of realms explored, and while the luster of intrigue had long since been dulled, the expanse was no less magnificent. "But what then do you think of a range of choices, none of which have been previously selected, all of which are simultaneously presented? What would be the determining factor there? I mean, look, we've got ninety-two flavors rearing their heads, demanding they be chosen-"

"I'd contest the fact that they demand choice-"

"Ok, they have the potential to be either chosen or not. All ninety-two, all at once. How then does the choice play out? Is it a sequence, or what else could it be?"

Soccer Mom and son finished their ice cream and left accordingly. The remaining customer borrowed a moment to ponder, perhaps to invest it into another meaningful observation.

"That I do not know. Yes, I have many options here, but I don't perceive them spatially, systematically, or anything of that sort. This array of choice to me is akin to tuning a piano. In piano tuning, a tuner will make a series of passes until a well-tuned equilibrium is reached. Now the question calls for a different answer according to perspective. At any said moment, that piano tuner is 'tuning' the piano, even if he is not actually tuning it all at once, instead doing it a key at a time. In this multifaceted act of choosing, I see it as a piano being tuned, options weighed in balances and found wanting, over and over and over again until it results in a sustained equilibrium, each note set in place, everything considered. The 'choice' would be that final tap of the piano key as the tuner departs with his task finished."

"You'd say then that this choice, pertaining to an ice cream flavor, is composed of various instrumentation, considering some niceties and other qualities about each flavor until each has reached a satisfactory pitch to you."

"A satisfactory pitch." He tilted his head ever slightly, glancing upward as if to double-check whether Fred's assessment checked out. Apparently, it did. "Yes, and although that carries with it a level of subjectivity, bearing in mind that no two tuners tune to the same tune, I would add that choices like these carry a mutable tuning scale. Every ear hears differently what they consider a satisfactory pitch."

"Yeah, like you mentioned, I've tasted and 'tuned' all these flavors, and my 'satisfactory pitch' made 'Sherbet Supreme' stand out the most. But what would undergird each person's chosen 'pitch' in an ice cream choice?"

"I don't know."

That reply subtly startled Fred. The customer's immediate response opened a portal of the completely indefinable nature of subjectivity. If he bluntly acknowledged that the essential drives of choice making were shrouded in a cloak on unknowing, then perhaps such a cloak would not be easily rent.

"You really don't know?"

"No. The determinant for each choice in inherently subjective matter is just that: inherently idiosyncratic, subjective, the workings of which we are really not privy to in others. The machinations of choice stemming from it are all fueled by different fuels, driven by different passions, and predetermined by different forces. I think we can analyze how this engine of choice operates, but to determined how it is powered may just dip too deeply into a murkier well of supposition and speculation."

"You'd say then, that the fuel of a subjective choice is well nigh indefinable, but that the mechanics of choice can be taken apart, analyzed, or what you will?"

He concurred. "To a degree, yes. To refer to our engine again, let us say that a friend refueled your automobile with something, some mystery fuel. Imagine that you could access everything in that automobile, save the fuel tank, or anything pertaining to what would divulge the fuel composition. All you could empirically determine is how the engine and other automotive functions perform. Regardless of fuel, you could test how that engine runs and examine the inner workings thereof. Your only restriction would be on gauging precisely what fuels that engine. I see choice in the same way. But I would posit that we view it from a non-mechanic's perspective."

"What do you mean?"

"Situate our engine situation in a town in which there are no mechanics, or anyone who could assess an engine's workings. The same holds true for the mind. I don't believe there is anyone who can truly view the mechanics of the mind with all omniscience, barring the existence of an omniscient entity whose understanding we would more than likely not be privy to anyway. You and I, or anyone else, can only observe the mind's workings in choice. Some observe and determine better than others. Unlike an engine, our minds are a complete unit that cannot be disassembled. It cannot be parsed outside of what the mind itself demonstrates. You and I have dismissed the concept of the conscious grasp of infinity, along with the findings of infinity within finity. But what is to say of the mind's awareness of this? Just because our conscious cannot tap into it, what of our subconscious? That facet of the mental faculties is still, in my opinion, far from resolution. I am but a man to chart results and conclusions and how they are reached and finalized."

After a deep, relaxing breath, the customer pursed his lips. Fred intended to interject, but the customer beat him to it. "I am still adrift in the boat of uncertainty on a sea of unknowns regarding these hazy outlines of chance. Quite a speculative science and an assailable art it is, this beast of choice. Do you find the same nuances in the objective choices?"

"Objective? Well, in my case, not as much. I've tried all of these flavors, and that is about as objective as I get with choice there. It'd take some point of reference, such as taste. But that's not as objective, of course. In my estimation, even the objective choices we face take on some of the subjective tendencies. Choosing between two equal things based on familiarity or preference, not choosing a specific option because of consequences we assume to be bad, things like that. What would you find subjective in objective choice?"

"It boils down to our own limited point of view. Neither you nor I are omniscient in any sense of the word. How then could we make a truly objective choice at that? Can we see the outcomes of any objective choice, regardless of grounding in our choices made? I think not. Even the choices we make against our own grain of stability may lead to a favorable circumstance unforeseen from the past."

Although confused at the thought, Fred put forth an example. "It would be like me tasting my favorite flavor and going on my merry way. But in my merry way, I lose attention to where I walk, and I trip and fall, or something similar. Or better yet, I taste a flavor I know is not my favorite, and in my path to the bathroom sink to spit it out, I discover a one hundred dollar bill left by someone. Correct?"

"Exactly. We cannot confine our objective choices to the grounds of objectivity. Those grounds serve as effective guideposts, surely, but they do not lay forth the same objectively oriented path."

"You're saying then, that--" Fred leaned forward on the counter. Perhaps he indeed arrived at a junction wherein choice presented two options: subjective and subjective. It could not be reduced to simple terms of right and wrong, or pragmatic or impractical. He could do a good deed, maybe help an old lady across the street, only to find himself in the clutches of thieves, all the worthwhile reward for making the right, objective choice. Even still, the objectively wrong choice, refusing to help that proverbial grandmother, would save both of them from thieves. Situational, ethical, objective choices could only be restrained in their scope, unable to break the bounds of that current state. "You're saying that, because the causal nature of our actions is something we cannot control, we cannot make any assured objective choice?"

"Of course we can, but we cannot safeguard the outcome, thus we cannot shield ourselves or anyone else from subjective consequences. Those consequences infuse our otherwise objective decisions with subjectivity."

Fred had to ask. "Do you think, for some reason, your choice here is objective?"

"Yes."

"But why? To my knowledge, you've never tried a single flavor here."

"Indeed, I haven't."

"Do you have a preference?"

"No."

"Then what is objective about your choice in the first place? If you don't have a flavor preference, what then would be guiding any objective choice of ice cream?"

"Nothing is guiding that choice."

The humming freezer overwhelmed Fred's ears. Its lulling sound shifted from faintly melodic to coldly ominous.

"Then if nothing is guiding that choice, how can it be anything but subjective?" Fred inquired.

"Perhaps nothing guides every choice, and everything guides no choice. No choice is guided by nothing, and nothing guides no choice. Any choice may be guided by anything, and anything may guide any choice. Choice is neither objective nor subjective. Choice is a choice, a choice of one's own choosing, choosing one's own choice. A great many choices are within what we call choice. Making choices, not making choices. Choosing every option, choosing no options. The selection of many, the selection of few. Choice. The choice of one, the rejection of infinity. The choice of infinity, the rejection of one. The choices we do make that are the choices we do not make, the choices we do not make that are the choices we do make."

He blinked. "Fred," he asked, "what have you chosen to believe?"

The customer calmly produced an object from his corduroy jacket, instilling within Fred the pangs of dread.

"I have made my choice."