Brad entered the gas station to get a Mountain Dew.
The clerk glanced up, and for a moment his eyes lingered on Brad’s face, at the deep scars. The man, whose name tag had only his first name, Juarez, looked a little uneasy then went back to chewing a glob of gum and texting someone on his phone.
Brad found the soda, brought it to the counter. Set it down. Waited.
Juarez didn’t bother to acknowledge him, until, in no particular hurry, he finished sending his text message. Then, without making eye contact with Brad, he muttered with a thick Spanish accent, “That all?”
“Did you ever think about the two things technology tries to deliver us from?” Brad asked.
Juarez finally looked at him. Worked the gum back and forth in his mouth. “Que?”
Brad gestured toward the clerk’s phone. “Technology. Whatever field you choose-industry, science, medicine, entertainment-technological advances are there either to create more diversions to occupy our time or to relieve our discomfort: so either to construct a fuller life or an easier one. Would you agree with that?”
He shook his head and mumbled something in Spanish. Brad didn’t know the language well but recognized some of the words. He placed his hands flat on the counter beside the soda can. “Paradoxically, do you know the two aspects of human experience that offer us the most wisdom?”
Juarez looked past him then, scanning the store as if he were expecting someone to step out and explain the joke to him. This time as he spoke to Brad, his tone turned caustic. “Did you want anything else with your Mountain Dew, senor -” Once again he slipped into speaking to Brad rather rudely in Spanish. Brad waited, studying his eyes, until he was done.
Eventually, Brad saw the smirk fade and a wisp of uneasiness settle in. “Solitude and adversity,” he said softly. “Those are the two things that lead us to wisdom. Enough silence to facilitate reflection on the meaning of life, enough pain to cause us to consider its brevity. Quietude and suffering.”
Brad still had both hands flat against the countertop, and Juarez was letting his eyes drift from Brad’s hands to his face, to his hands. He shifted his weight.
“And yet, every technological advance is another desperate attempt to remove either silence or pain from our lives. Our society is constantly trying to cure itself of the very two things we need the most. Does that sound civilized to you?”
The clerk did not reply. But he had stopped chewing his gum.
Brad slid the soda toward him. “This will be all.”
Juarez promptly rang up the purchase. Brad paid for it, then walked to the door, paused, flipped the “open” sign around so that the word “closed” faced the highway, then turned to the clerk. “Maybe I’ll have one more thing. Before I go.”