When was the last time you clutched a sheaf of paper and, simultaneously, that metal cannon of the office environment, pressing the edge of the paper into the mouth of that cannon and shooting out a staple to hold it all together? A stapler is the epitome of a bonding experience, containing singular things into solid entities larger then they could be alone. Also, it's a way to keep paper together. But you probably haven't thought much about staplers—or possibly even used one—unless you read Phyllis Korkiki's tribute to them in The New York Times this weekend.
As it turns out, our affection for the ever-so-slightly-the-more antiquated object (out goes paper, out goes the need to bind it) has not died, despite it being more than a decade since the movie Office Space commented so hilariously on the stapler as something like the essence of office culture. It's still, regardless of our changing existence with paper and the increasingly consuming presence of the Internet, hanging around and doing what it does, though quite probably not every person in your office has their own.
Korkiki writes that if you do have a stapler, it might be old and dusty; it might even have gone missing, borrowed and never returned. But she points out that even with our decreased reliance upon the stapler, the stapler still exists, and serves a unique purpose. It's true, you can't staple things online, exactly, though I'd hypothesize that a "thread" or "forum" or even a "blog"—any collection of items gathered and connected by one tiny yet powerful "staple"—is, a stapled bunch of information. Whether you agree with me or not, she's right that stapling can be oddly fulfilling: "Nothing, really, comes close to the satisfying ka-chunk of a stapler: it’s a sound that means work is getting done." (The sound of popping bubble wrap might be more satisfying? Discuss.)