Office Warfare

Today, on the battlefield of my office desk, a war of wills was begun. It started as an innocent squabble, but quickly devolved into outright combat. Sides were taken, gauntlets were thrown down, and a little blood was shed. Cold, heartless brutality. Children, avert your eyes. Persons of weak constitutions, please, I beg you, do not continue reading. Behold, the epic battle of me versus...

...the stapler of DOOOOOM! This stapler has decided it hates me. I do not know where its little brain resides, but I wish I could squish it between my fingers after I play with it as if it were a superball. I have employee packets to staple, each of which averages about 30 pages. Each packet needs one little ol' staple at the top left corner. Just one! But the stapler of doom decided it hates sharing its staples. They are, to steal a phrase, its precious. But it is a tricky devil, this one. The stapler will correctly staple the first packet of paper perfectly, lulling me into a sense of security in my stapling abilities. Then WHAM! the stapler decided to jam 5 staples together both on the paper and in the stapler, melding paper, staples and stapler together in an unholy matrimony. I spend 5 minutes delicately dislodging the staples from the stapler and paper while trying to avoid shedding blood from my staple wounds on the snow white paper. I speak soothing words to the stapler and make sure all the little staple soldiers are in line and happy. I gently place the packet until the jowls of the stapler once more, say a quick prayer to office supply gods, and meaningfully and authoritatively depress the stapler's arm onto my paper. Noooo!! Yet another jam, this time with the added complication of the entire column of staples being stuck inside the belly of the stapler. Oh, this is truly a devious and malignant beast. I shake my fist at you, stapler of doom.

And still, the battle rages on...