Brands have ordinary stories. The difference between forgettable and compelling is how you tell them.


There are such fine lines between those three compatriots.

Does it ever pay to dawdle? In total, I added up about six or seven minutes, which would have resulted in a completely different ending to my day. It all began yesterday afternoon, as I headed out the door.

A phone call interrupted my exit. It was my brother. Our conversation was brief as he reminded me not to forget the wine, while chiding me for already being late. I laughed as I hung up, grabbed the wine, and then dashed downstairs into my car.

Even though I had accelerated towards the intersection, I missed the light. “Damn.” Those lights were notoriously slow. As I waited (and waited), the dark gray clouds had lifted to reveal a blue sky, and a blazing, low-hanging, winter sun — that completely blinded me. I reached for my sunglasses, then remembered I’d left them on the kitchen table when I’d taken my brother’s call.

“Damn again.” I leaned into my glove box for my backup set.

I couldn’t find them, but the lights had changed, and I was already halfway down the boulevard; it was pointless to double back. I knew there was no way I’d be driving along Highway 40 squinting like a blind mole the whole time. A quick pit-stop at the Shoppers Drug Mart on the corner would find me a new pair of shades. The parking lot was almost empty as I stepped out of my car towards the store.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Paul.”

I’d left my wallet sitting on the front seat. I quickly returned to my car, retrieved my leather pouch and hustled again towards that store. I passed a frail-looking elderly lady, who sat stooped in a large brown-leather seat, about to start her car. I paused for a second as I admired the sheer size of her classic old Cadillac.

Finally, I’d reached the front doors.

And there, over on the right, was the vast display of sunglasses. As I stepped inside, there was suddenly a thundering crash, the sound of shattering glass and a cacophony of screams. That Cadillac I’d passed had plowed through the plate glass windows and had stopped fifteen feet inside that pharmacy. Glass showered the car with tiny tinkling crystals.

Thankfully, that “elderly lady” driver wasn’t hurt, except for obvious shock. And surprisingly, no one in that store was injured either. In fact, there wasn’t that much damage inside, except over there — on the right.

Every one of those swivelling display cases, which once held hundreds of various sunglasses, was now buried and crushed underneath the massive weight of that Cadillac’s front wheels and engine.

A series of “what-ifs” immediately grabbed my throat and rattled me. I stood there speechless and shook my head in disbelief. And of course, I thanked “fate” and “destiny” for their benevolence. As I slowly walked back through the parking lot, I realized perhaps I should have simply thanked my dumb-fucking luck.

Then again, if my niggling brother hadn’t called, I would never have forgotten my sunglasses in the first place. 

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The Takeaway:
A trip to the drugstore for sunglasses. That’s it. But you read every word. That’s the power of narrative tension. Brands have ordinary stories too — products, services, origins. The difference between forgettable and compelling isn’t what you say. It’s how you tell it.

I turn the mundane into the memorable.

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