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A strange package shows up at Aaron’s door, filled with Taco Bell hot sauce and a message that didn’t quite survive the journey. But what starts as a bizarre delivery turns into something else entirely: a reflection on memory, connection, and the unexpected ways we measure success.

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The Team:

Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato

Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt

Additional vocals: Cori Calafato

Art: Pete Whitehead

Original Theme Music: thomas j. duke

Additional Soundscape Design: Isaac Gehring

TRANSCRIPT

Someone just mailed me an envelope full of Taco Bell hot sauces and mild sauces to my home address. And somewhere along the way, as it traveled through the postal service, they exploded inside the envelope.

It was delivered to my doorstep, and when we opened it up, we could see that someone had written a note. It was a gesture of affection, and it was probably one of you. We could only make out one sentence, but thank you for the attempt. No harm, no foul.

But the reason I am not weirded out about this is because this is not the first time it has happened.

In fact, this is not the first time it has happened with Taco Bell sauce packets, and it goes back to a story I told way back in season one. You should listen to it. It is in the Seven Minute Stories archives. Episode 109, Taco Bell: An American Portrait. Ever since I told that story, I have been getting texts, DMs, pictures, and yes, mail with Taco Bell paraphernalia and merch.

Now, separately, as someone who tells stories and grows audiences for a living, I am always thinking about what success means. And I feel like I have found a connection between these Taco Bell sauce packets and what success means to me.

We will get into all of it right after the music.

So if you have not heard that episode, you can stay right here and listen to it later in the archive. But why Taco Bell? Why did that episode resonate with so many people?

It is not a brand thing. I do not work for Taco Bell. It was not an advertisement. I even sent it to Taco Bell, and they did not care.

And it does not really matter. It could have been any place. What matters is that this particular place was a beacon of late-night opportunity for so many young people in small towns, where not much else was happening.

Where you grew up away from the big city.

Where you were looking for cheap food and an open door for conversation with your friends.

It became a kind of nostalgia. Almost like a 90s Rockwell painting. You and your friends, able to afford to eat like kings and queens, with memories attached to every visit.

That is why I was a little surprised, but not completely surprised, when I started receiving envelopes from listeners around the country with Taco Bell wrappers, notes about favorite orders, and messages from people sitting in drive-thrus at 2:00 AM saying, “Hey, I thought of your story.”

Some of the stories people share are beautiful. Some are incredibly sad.

There is one I think about often. My grandfather used to come to my soccer games. I played city league. I was an emerging talent as a center forward.

He wanted me to be my best, so he made me a deal.

“I will buy you a crunchy taco from Taco Bell for every goal you score.”

So I would go out there and score 13, 14, 15 goals.

Because I did it all for the taco.

And what made it even more meaningful was that my grandfather was a man of great taste. Italian American. Knew how to cook. Appreciated great food.

But he also had the kind of palate that could sit down and enjoy Taco Bell.

That memory stuck with me.

So I am not surprised when I get messages from people sitting in their cars with Taco Bell in the front seat saying, “Hey man, I just thought about that story,” or “I just listened to it again.”

Where it gets a little messy is when people start sending hot sauce packets.

About a year ago, someone sent a package to my P.O. box with about a hundred sauce packets inside. That one did not explode. It just had a note that said, “I know how much you love Taco Bell. I had these in my car. Thought you would appreciate them.”

And I remember thinking, this is a strange language that is developing.

This most recent one just happened to explode. So in the worst case, it is just a messy package with a good intention.

But it made me think.

Because one of the things I struggle with, and it probably comes through in some of these stories, is that even with this podcast, I am driven to reach people.

I am driven by this mission of storytelling, to make it free and available, to create a communal space.

And that promise will continue.

But it is not always easy.

It takes time. It takes energy. It takes resources.

To build something, to grow it, and to put your art and your voice into the world.

There are no words for that feeling.

And still, even with that gift, I find myself asking:

Am I doing enough?

How can I do more?

How can I reach more people?

How can I innovate?

What is success?

I know there are deeper, personal answers to that question.

But I am talking about passion projects. The things you put your heart into.

You cannot avoid those questions.

You cannot avoid the need for validation.

That is why they call it a passion project.

There are times when I feel like I am not doing enough.

Sometimes I catch myself looking at other people, other lanes, other races, and thinking, “They have that. Look at this.”

And I am a little embarrassed to admit that.

But I am human.

So I try to reset. With discipline. With prayer.

And in that process, I look for signs.

What is a sign that you are doing the right thing?

I used to think it would be accolades.

Recognition.

Awards.

But I think I know what it is now.

It is exploded packets of Taco Bell sauce in the mail.

It is the packages you send.

It is the friendships that have come from this show.

It is the DMs from people who were moved by a story.

It is the photo of someone in their forties, sitting in a Taco Bell parking lot, holding a meal and saying, “I remember this. I used to do this with my friend. He is not here anymore. I got one for me, and one for him. I put it in the front seat where he used to sit.”

Those are the messages I get.

And it is an honor.

That so many of you feel connected enough to see yourselves in these stories.

Because that is the whole point.

At the end of the story, it is not mine that remains.

It is yours.

The memory starts with me.

But it ends with you.

I will talk to you next week.