One tablet, or three reasons

An old man in a pharmacy in Amman holds three boxes of medicine and asks how he is supposed to take them.

There are two ways to answer him.

The first is fast. One of each, twice a day, after food. He nods and leaves. The answer fits on a sticky note, and it is what most people at a busy counter would give. It feels kind, because it spares him detail.

It also leaves him with nothing to stand on. When he forgets the evening dose, he will not know whether to double up. When one box runs out early, he will not know which one actually mattered. When his daughter asks what each tablet is for, he will shrug. The answer was made smaller until it stopped carrying any understanding at all.

The second way takes four more minutes. This one is for your heart, and it matters most, so never skip it. This one protects your stomach from the third. If the third makes you dizzy, tell the doctor. Then the same thing again, more slowly, with the boxes laid out in order on the counter.

That is not a more complicated answer. It is a simpler one, built from the basics upwards, in a sequence he can follow. He walks out knowing why, which means he can handle tomorrow without coming back.

There is a lot of pressure everywhere to give the first answer. People are busy, attention is short, and a slogan feels efficient. But stripping the meaning out of something does not make it easier to understand. It just leaves less there to understand.

Simple takes patience from the person explaining. Dumb only takes speed.