“I want it now.”

I’m sure those words first came to our minds while still in the womb — demanding even more from our poor, bedraggled mothers. And the words remained true as we matured and expected to receive that plum job with the six-month vacation and a company car after graduating from high school with a degree in the correct application of Goth makeup. “I want it now.” Of course, who doesn’t? Instant gratification. I’ll take two helpings, please.

And today, amazingly enough, we can get anything imaginable almost upon the mere thought.

I want those pants. They’ll arrive tomorrow. I want that book. Great, press the button. Oh, you want a new lawnmower? Easy-peasy, there it is at the front door.

I love it! Not a human in sight. We have hooked ourselves up to the Matrix pods and it feels good.

But, of course, there is a human in sight. Some man or woman is lugging your lawnmower or your pants or your Hy Vee groceries to your mailbox or door or into your kitchen. As shocking as it seems, your ease in ordering milk does not make the milk easier to carry.

The Netherlands is no different. You think it, you got it. However, the modes of delivery aren’t quite the same.

Take for example the mail. In this neck of the woods, it’s by bike. Yup, a bike loaded with mail. Delivered in rain or shine (well, “shine” is a little strong since the sun’s rays never exceed their allotted five minutes per week). The mail delivery person uses the back of the bike, the front of the bike, and even a bag on the shoulder. It doesn’t matter to them. Here’s your mail. Instant gratification for you; back-breaking work for Rashid, the smiling, friendly, mail guy.

And your kids? Hah, they are also delivered for you by bike. This isn’t that strange. Transportation is still transportation whether the kids are in a school bus, a van from a carpool, or packed like small wedges of Dutch cheese in the front wooden basket of a heavy Dutch bike. A bucket of kids to go, please.

But what about instant gratification on a Dutch canal?

Let’s say some day you’re floating down a canal and feel a sudden urge for French fries. What do you do? Well . . . .

“My name is Pema Zangyetsang.”

Dark eyebrows, dark eyes, big smile.

Pema is the owner of Mister Snack.

“I’ve had this two years ago.”

His shop is sparkling clean with displays of snack foods and drinks and, yes, French fries. It sits directly over the intersection of two canals.

“In summertime, it is good to deliver to boats. People call the phone or some people just ring the bell.”

What Pema is talking about is this wonderful system of pulleys he has set up to deliver his snacks to boats on the canal.

See, you never have to leave your boat as you eat fries slathered in the traditional Dutch style, with more mayonnaise than fried potato.

Instant gratification. Awesome.

Is this your life dream, Pema, to own a snack business in the Netherlands?

“I want to own more shops. Actually, I’m planning for sushi, but this place is too small.”

And your home?

“I’m from Tibet. It is very far from here. I came in 2004 to The Hague. I learned Dutch . . .  I very much miss home.”

Why?

“This last January, my father back in Tibet is very sick.”

And this is why you miss home?

“Yes.”

Ahhhhhh . . . what happened to my instant gratification? Everything was whimsical, light, mildly funny. And now? A sharp left turn into the hard life of an immigrant, who has done everything right (learned Dutch, operates a successful business, pays taxes), but who can’t be home with his ill father.

Only one solution — I pull out my iPhone, hit my automatic contact number, and order some ice cream. Whew. Close call. Instant gratification wins the day.

Joe