The Label Maker
An Essay By Jan
Back when I was a kid, my dad brought me a label maker from China. That little device had a red plastic strip and a little wheel to twist till the letter I desired aligned with the arrow. One punch of the trigger, and the letter was forever embossed in that little strip.
I loved the label maker. I'd print labels for everything, from my mom's spice bottles to my doll's accessories, branding them so that I always knew what they are.
I found that label maker today, at the bottom of an carboard box full of old toys. The trigger still lets out that delightful click, though it takes some effort to slide the wheel till the right letter is in place. The red tape to emboss on is nowhere to be found, but there's nothing wrong in the machine that some grease and a trip to the stationery cannot fix.
But I hesitated. Even if I fix it, whatever would I use it for? What if I label something wrong and it can never be anything else? If I label it and get tired of it, I'd never be able to remove it, at least not without leaving a sticky, messy trace.
I wish you knew me as a child, for then I was fearless. You'd have watched me fiddle with the wheel till I had heard 4 satisfying clicks, pull out the red strip that reads M-I-N-E and slap it on your wrist.
