Which word the signboard gets

A woman in Qena is opening a small shop selling school uniforms, and she has to choose a signboard.

The sign painter shows her what everyone on the street already has: the shop's name in red letters on white, a phone number underneath, the same smiling child he has painted a dozen times this year. It is quick. It is cheap. Nobody will laugh at it. It is how signs are done here.

Or she could do something else. A plain board with one sentence about why her uniforms survive two school years instead of one. Harder to get right, a little risky, possibly ignored, possibly the only sign on the street anyone remembers.

Most choices look like this once you slow them down. Not right against wrong, but one kind of decision against another kind. And afterwards, each one can be summed up with a single word. That was the easy one. The safe one. The one everyone else made. Or: the generous one. The brave one. The new one.

The word usually gets chosen before the decision does, by habit, by fear, by whatever the sign painter happens to have in his book of samples. Hardly anyone notices it being chosen.

Not every decision has to be the brave one. Some days the quick sign is the right sign. But it is worth knowing, before the paint dries, which word this one is going to get, and choosing it rather than inheriting it.