The counter was never the only place

A small maker of sesame crackers in Damanhour sold them in a large round tin. The grocer would open it on the counter and sell by the handful.

The trouble was the counter. Every grocer in town had one, and every one of them was already full: the scale, the till, a tray of sweets, a box of lighters, a radio. The tin kept getting moved to the floor, and a tin on the floor does not sell.

So the maker spent a season on the tin. A narrower one. A square one that might fit in a corner. A lid that could carry a few packs on top. Each version was a little better and none of them solved anything, because the counter was still full.

The answer, when it came, took an afternoon. Small packs of a dozen crackers, clipped to a long paper strip with a hole at the top, hung from a nail by the door. The grocer did not need to find room for it. The room was the air.

Nothing about the strip was clever. Anyone could have made one in a week. What took a season was getting past the assumption that a snack belongs on the counter.

Most of the effort in a stuck problem goes into the version of the answer we already believe in. We polish it, cost it, redesign it. Meanwhile the better answer sits one step to the side, not hidden, just unconsidered.

Building the new thing is rarely what holds us up. Seeing that it was allowed is.