backforthmenu Branding. There is a liquor store I stop at on Western called Big Town. I stop there because I like the name. The interior is huge and houses a variety of wines and beers as well as any extras you would need to use them properly; cork screws, bottle openers, shot glasses, cigars, pornos, etc. The door into the place is automatic, when you get close enough it just opens... for your convenience. I am always greeted by the same clerk. He’s tall, dark-skinned, balding. A dark, striped dress shirt tightly tucked into brown slacks. Black belt. He has a constant smile and there are always a couple of other men with him behind the counter, talking in a foreign language—maybe Hindi. This day I go in, hunt for what I want, sixer of Guiness and a bottle of wine, then get in line behind two younger men. They are asking for some certain brand of cigarette which the clerk cannot find on the crowded shelves. One of the younger men is describing the size and shape of the pack using his smallish hands, “It’s like this—about like this,” he says, making a rectangle shape. “And gold...” His friend is growing impatient and moves behind the counter to look for himself. To my surprise, the clerk does not flinch and allows the man to peruse the rows of cigarettes. But he can’t find his friend’s brand either. Finally, one of the clerk’s friends pipes up, “Why do not you just purchase the Marlboros?” There is a silent pause. Everyone looks at each other. “Okay... give me Marlboros.” 3/27/00