Insignificant, unimportant, a one-inch piece of thin bent wire called a staple lies on my desk.
Staples are used for fastening papers together, or sometimes for tacking posters to bulletin boards. That is all.
This staple before me now could serve a purpose conveniently, but it is not indispensable. Any one of several other devices, such as paper clips, brads, lock-folds, or pins, could do the job almost as well as could another staple. Little piece of bent wire, you're handy, but I can get along without you.
"Little person," says the modern world, "you are here to do a job for society. I hope you perform your duty properly. But if you don't, there are many more like you to replace you, and there are many more not quite so well suited as you that can be used if necessary. If you fail, that's too bad, but I, the world, won't grieve over your failure."
When I am finished with this theme, staple, you will go into the wastebasket. You're of no use to me; a stapling machine won't handle one staple very well.
But then when I have served my purpose in life, when my time has run out, will I be happy to be tossed into the wastebasket? Will I be happy to know that the world no longer has any use for me?
Little brother, perhaps I shouldn't be so cruel to you. Maybe I should keep you. I think I've got a spare pocket here somewhere . . . .