The box somebody sorted

On the road through Qalyubia in winter, two sellers sit a few metres apart, both selling strawberries.

The first has a great red heap and a scoop. You fill your own bag, cheaply, by the kilo. Somewhere near the bottom there is usually one soft berry you did not see, and by the next morning the ones around it have gone soft too.

The second sells small boxes. Fewer berries, more money for each one. Every berry in every box has been looked at by someone before it went in. She sells out first.

On paper the heap is the better deal. You get more for less. But the arithmetic only works if you can check everything yourself, and nobody can check a heap of strawberries at the side of a road with a car waiting.

When sorting is hard for the buyer, a smaller amount that is entirely good beats a larger amount with one bad piece somewhere inside. The bad piece does not cost its own price. It costs the confidence in everything around it.

This is why people pay so willingly for a shop that stocks fewer things, a friend who only recommends what they would use, a list somebody has already narrowed down. They are not paying for less choice. They are paying for not having to do the checking.

The second seller looks as if she is selling strawberries at a premium.

She is selling the hour she spent going through every one of them, so that you do not have to.