By David P. Cantrell

“Remove the staples carefully Rosie—they do nasty things to the janitor’s vacuum,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Put them in this plastic cup. Separate the Invoice, PO and Receipts, sort them by PO# and stack them in theses trays. You have an important job, dear.”

Thrilled to have a job, I smile widely. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Tick-tock. Time is evil.

Each spent staple mocks me as it lands in the cup. “You’ll never get promoted, and you’re too chicken to quit.”

“I’m not,” I protest. “This is the last cup.”

A chorus of dead staples chants, “You said that last time, too.”


4 thoughts on “Staples

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