The Taco Bell envelope that showed up this week

This past week, someone mailed me an envelope full of Taco Bell hot sauce packets. By the time it reached my house, they had exploded. Soaked. Sticky. A complete mess.

Don’t worry, it wasn’t malicious. We could make out just enough of the note before the rest was covered in sauce. “Thank you for the stories.” It was a nice gesture. No harm, no foul.

But I have to ask. Was it you, dear reader? Nonetheless, I wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t the first time. And there’s a reason for that. We’ll get to that in less than a minute.

Thinking back, I believe there was only one Taco Bell in Medina when I was growing up – right off Route 42, near Drug Mart. If I remember correctly, it briefly became a Blimpie before that experiment quietly ended, and Taco Bell eventually settled into its current spot down the road (please write in if I have this one wrong). Nonetheless, today we have a few of them around town.

But back then, for a kid growing up in Medina in the ’90s, it wasn’t just a place. It was a destination. It wasn’t about the chain brand. It was about what that place held – late nights, cheap food, small-town life, conversations with friends, the quiet foundation where nostalgic memories form without you realizing it.

For me, it started even younger. I remember I was 10 years old, playing city league soccer, when my grandfather made me a deal. One taco for every goal you score. So I went out and scored as many as I could – one Saturday morning, 13 goals. Because of the tacos. But really, because it meant extra time with him.

Years later, I told a story titled “Taco Bell: An American Portrait” on my podcast, 7 Minute Stories. It wasn’t about the brand. It was about what that place held – late nights, cheap food, small-town life, the quiet foundation where memories form without you realizing it.

After that episode, something unexpected started happening. People began sending me things. Photos. Messages. Notes from drive-thrus at 2 a.m. And sometimes, envelopes filled with hot sauce packets.

One message stuck with me. Someone I had never met sent a photo of a Taco Bell order in the passenger seat of their car. Next to it was another order, untouched, sitting in an empty seat – a seat where their friend used to sit before an untimely passing. They had gone through the drive-thru, ordered their friend’s favorite meal and placed it there out of habit.

And I’ll be honest, despite the magic of that moment, I still find myself asking the same questions. Am I doing enough? How do I reach more people with my stories? What does success even look like?

I used to think it was recognition – awards, numbers. Now I think it may be something else.

It’s an envelope that shows up at your door, covered in exploded hot sauce, sent by someone you’ve never met, trying to say thank you. Because something you made reminded them of something they almost forgot.

And in that moment, you realize the story was never really yours. It just started with you. But it ended with them.