Paperclips & Pepperoni

I feel like the only ones checking in on me in the mornings are Office Depot and Domino’s Pizza. You know, just two loyal corporate pen pals making sure I don’t disappear into the abyss of my questionable life choices.

While the rest of the world is too busy living their best LinkedIn-approved lives, Office Depot slides into my inbox like, “Good morning, legend! Need a 12-pack of highlighters, a printer you’ll hate in 3 weeks, and a chair designed by medieval torture enthusiasts?”

And Domino’s is right behind them whispering sweet nothings like, “Hey beautiful… you up? We’ve got a two-topping medium pizza for $6.99, just in case your life decisions taste like sadness today.”

I open my email in the morning, and it looks like a love child between an office supply closet and a college dorm room at 2 a.m. on a Saturday. One email promises me “ergonomic solutions for peak productivity,” while the next one’s like, “Wanna destroy your digestive tract before noon?”

My Gmail is a motivational speaker with a pizza problem. “Conquer your day! Also… extra cheese?” It’s the emotional equivalent of a personal trainer handing you a donut mid-burpee.

The worst part? I actually consider both offers deeply.

On one side: “Yes, I should probably get that standing desk attachment so I don’t morph into a question mark by age 50.”

On the other side: “But also… garlic knots.”

Domino’s tells me I deserve a treat, while Office Depot tells me I deserve a stapler that doesn’t jam every other sheet. They’re both enablers, really — one for my procrastination, one for my cholesterol levels.

Sometimes I imagine them teaming up, like a weird corporate buddy comedy. Office Depot showing up in a crisp blue shirt, holding a fresh box of dry erase markers, Domino’s in a wrinkled t-shirt holding a half-eaten cheesy bread, both nodding approvingly at my life choices.

Domino’s: “Bro, we got you. You’ve had a tough week. Here’s a lava cake.”

Office Depot: “Also, here’s a label maker so you can name your regrets and organize them by year.”

It’s actually pretty comforting. While everyone else forgets to text back, these two show up every morning without fail. I’ve got more loyalty from them than I’ve gotten from half my exes and 90% of the job applications I’ve sent this year.

At this point, I’m convinced Office Depot and Domino’s are the only true constants in my life. They’re like the sun and the moon — always rising, always setting, always plotting to keep me slightly more disorganized and slightly more bloated.

If I ever write my memoir, it’s going to be titled “Paperclips & Pepperoni: A Life Story.” The chapters will include “Chapter 1: Why I Own 37 Notebooks and Still Have No Plan,” “Chapter 4: Extra Cheese on Existential Dread,” and “Chapter 9: The Great Printer Ink Breakdown of 2023.”

Until then, I’ll keep sipping this mystery coffee that tastes like leftover ambition, clicking through coupons for pen multipacks I don’t need, and debating if 10:37 a.m. is too early to order a pizza (spoiler: it’s not).

So thank you, Office Depot and Domino’s, for being the unwavering glow-ups in my inbox. You may be the only two who truly understand that some days require productivity, and some days require pan pizza — and most days require both.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go print out my dreams on overpriced inkjet paper and then immediately eat them under a blanket of mozzarella.