Homemade Tape Dispenser
I will try and explain why this object is amazing but if it’s not immediately apparent you might be shopping with the wrong dude. It’s a homemade tape dispenser. Some dude had tape. Couldn’t dispense it. Made a box. Put in tape. Problem solved.
Maybe I’m not being clear enough. Problem: tape is loose. Solution: wood box for to hold and dispense said tape. Grandpa was absolutely struggling. Tape was getting everywhere. Constantly cutting himself with his janky scissors. Grandma would shut herself up in here separate bedroom every time he needed to secure something. She knew the anger he would wrought. Grandma starts leaving hints, boxes for other things, dispensers if you will, around grandpas workshop. One day he’s downstairs, twelve Old Styles in, trying to get the lid to his stamp dispenser to stay on. The thought of tape enters his mind, but so does the rage. 72 years of experience. He built this house brick by brick. Built a company that his daughters now run successfully. Three children, seven grands. All happy and successful and kind and productive. By every measure that should matter his life has been and enviable success. But fucking tape. Every time its the FUCKING tape. He should just cut it out of his life, he knows this. Box it all up and forget about it. Cut it….Box it….Life……Children……
It suddenly became so clear. It’s so simple. Box. Hole. Rod. Blade. Slit.
Grandpa presented his development to grandma several weeks later after running through several dozen prototypes. She masterfully feigned surprise and excitement. The last decade of his life was a story of calmness, kindness, balance, and open emotional communication. Grandpa George had defeated his dragon, Grandpa Ahab had defeated his Moby Dick, tape.
6.5”x3.5”x5.5”
I will try and explain why this object is amazing but if it’s not immediately apparent you might be shopping with the wrong dude. It’s a homemade tape dispenser. Some dude had tape. Couldn’t dispense it. Made a box. Put in tape. Problem solved.
Maybe I’m not being clear enough. Problem: tape is loose. Solution: wood box for to hold and dispense said tape. Grandpa was absolutely struggling. Tape was getting everywhere. Constantly cutting himself with his janky scissors. Grandma would shut herself up in here separate bedroom every time he needed to secure something. She knew the anger he would wrought. Grandma starts leaving hints, boxes for other things, dispensers if you will, around grandpas workshop. One day he’s downstairs, twelve Old Styles in, trying to get the lid to his stamp dispenser to stay on. The thought of tape enters his mind, but so does the rage. 72 years of experience. He built this house brick by brick. Built a company that his daughters now run successfully. Three children, seven grands. All happy and successful and kind and productive. By every measure that should matter his life has been and enviable success. But fucking tape. Every time its the FUCKING tape. He should just cut it out of his life, he knows this. Box it all up and forget about it. Cut it….Box it….Life……Children……
It suddenly became so clear. It’s so simple. Box. Hole. Rod. Blade. Slit.
Grandpa presented his development to grandma several weeks later after running through several dozen prototypes. She masterfully feigned surprise and excitement. The last decade of his life was a story of calmness, kindness, balance, and open emotional communication. Grandpa George had defeated his dragon, Grandpa Ahab had defeated his Moby Dick, tape.
6.5”x3.5”x5.5”
I will try and explain why this object is amazing but if it’s not immediately apparent you might be shopping with the wrong dude. It’s a homemade tape dispenser. Some dude had tape. Couldn’t dispense it. Made a box. Put in tape. Problem solved.
Maybe I’m not being clear enough. Problem: tape is loose. Solution: wood box for to hold and dispense said tape. Grandpa was absolutely struggling. Tape was getting everywhere. Constantly cutting himself with his janky scissors. Grandma would shut herself up in here separate bedroom every time he needed to secure something. She knew the anger he would wrought. Grandma starts leaving hints, boxes for other things, dispensers if you will, around grandpas workshop. One day he’s downstairs, twelve Old Styles in, trying to get the lid to his stamp dispenser to stay on. The thought of tape enters his mind, but so does the rage. 72 years of experience. He built this house brick by brick. Built a company that his daughters now run successfully. Three children, seven grands. All happy and successful and kind and productive. By every measure that should matter his life has been and enviable success. But fucking tape. Every time its the FUCKING tape. He should just cut it out of his life, he knows this. Box it all up and forget about it. Cut it….Box it….Life……Children……
It suddenly became so clear. It’s so simple. Box. Hole. Rod. Blade. Slit.
Grandpa presented his development to grandma several weeks later after running through several dozen prototypes. She masterfully feigned surprise and excitement. The last decade of his life was a story of calmness, kindness, balance, and open emotional communication. Grandpa George had defeated his dragon, Grandpa Ahab had defeated his Moby Dick, tape.
6.5”x3.5”x5.5”