David 
Earlier this week I encountered a staple that, while not life-changing, is emblematic of the current state of our humanity. Every morning, I partake in a morning meditation on my apartment’s balcony. Attempting to take in the current state of the world, I rejoice in the light of the morning sun and listen to the sounds of South Fourth Street while playing a game or two of darts. One morning I awoke before my roommate, Jon, showered, and headed to the balcony as I always do. I’d never characterize the balcony as something to write home about, but there’s something special about its rickety railing and exposure to the elements. The balcony is a place where I find that my mind can wander, reflecting on myself and the world around me. I find that something as unassuming as a pile of dust and chipped paint can capture my attention, encouraging me to ponder its importance. Whilst reflecting, the late-morning sun’s rays caught a metallic object on the balcony that I’d never noticed. This piqued my curiosity. After further investigation, I found that the foreign object was a staple—and a rusty one at that.
I would not describe myself as paranoid, but I do worry about the well-being of myself and occasionally the well-being of others. Feeling the urge to alert everyone to this formerly unseen danger, I quickly texted my roommate, “Just found a rusty staple on the balcony. I could have really hurt myself.” With the weight of my roommate’s staple-related ignorance lifted off my shoulders, I returned to my state of deep reflection and immersed myself in another game of darts. My return to serenity was disrupted almost immediately as my wandering eyes spotted another staple, this one even rustier than the last. I frantically texted Jon, “A second staple has hit the balcony.” Despite the gravity of these texts, I didn’t receive any sort of communication from Jon, save for a receipt that he had read the message.
The seemingly cold shoulder that I received from my roommate was borderline unwarranted. At first, I thought that he might be so terrified of the staples that he was too afraid to leave his room. Further investigation revealed that he was merely on his phone. Jon often describes himself as the “Most human person alive,” a self-proclaimed title referring to his great humanity. When I asked if he had seen my texts, he gave an artificial response: “Yeah, I just didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”
The mystery of where these staples came from is not lost on me. Surely, they are ancient artifacts left by the tenants who occupied the apartment before us. Still, what escapes me is the former purpose of the staples. The walls adjacent to the balcony are brick, not conducive to stapling. The staples also appear to be unused; perhaps they were the scraps of an old craft. Maybe the people who occupied the space on the balcony had a printer, and the balcony was the space they used to staple things together. Although I think that this is unlikely, I would like to think that the staples were left as a reminder. We need to, now more than ever, look out for one another. We must be compelled to do the right thing, even if it’s as mundane as warning a thoughtless roommate about the staples on the balcony.
CLICK TO READ THE OTHER PERSEPCTIVE OF THIS DEBATE
It’s Not That Big of a Deal | The Staple Fiasco