Every so often, the universe arranges for a humble office supply to achieve internet infamy. This week, a particular stapler—and not just any stapler, but the one responsible for damaging a notable run of Nintendo Switch 2 consoles—has entered the annals of retail lore. GameStop, never averse to leaning into meme-fueled moments, has decided to auction off the tool (alongside its handy work and a newly repaired Switch 2) for charity. Metro documents that, at the time of writing, the bidding has already reached the six-figure mark, with the full proceeds set for Children’s Miracle Network Hospitals.
From Staten Island Humidity to Staplegate Fame
To briefly revisit the scene: the U.S. saw its share of excitement at the Switch 2 launch, but as noted by Metro, it was Staten Island’s midnight GameStop event that distinguished itself in the retail mishap department. Customers there reported finding their brand-new consoles with curious puncture marks straight out of the box. It didn’t take long for patient sleuthing (and more than a few incredulous Reddit posts) to turn up the surprising explanation. As the outlet details, GameStop employees—cornered by a malfunctioning air conditioner and a humid sales floor that defeated adhesive tape—resorted to stapling purchase receipts directly to console boxes.
Unfortunately, destiny and console packaging conspired against them: staples, meeting the precisely wrong spot, sometimes made it all the way into the Switch 2’s screen. Not exactly the sort of augmented reality Nintendo had planned.
GameStop reportedly offered prompt replacements for affected customers, but in a twist that feels part retail therapy, part performance art, the company has now commemorated the incident with an eBay auction.
Auction Lots: Artifacts of Enthusiasm and Air Conditioning Woes
Metro highlights that the auction lot isn’t limited to the infamous stapler alone. The winning bidder will also receive the very first Switch 2 known to be punctured (fully repaired, and, if memory from earlier listings serves, still paired with a Mario Kart World code), the box—complete with original staple holes—and, in a final flourish, the very staple that crossed the line, now sealed in a display pouch. In the listing, these are described as “authentic relics from the now infamous Staplegate incident,” and the stapler itself is said to have been wielded “in a moment of launch night excitement and misjudged enthusiasm.”
If you’re wondering how high things can go for a stapler-with-backstory, the answer appears to be “higher than you’d expect.” Metro also notes that, as of publication, the auction boasts at least 181 bids and a leading offer around $109,000. There’s even a touch of performance from the top floor: GameStop CEO Ryan Cohen posted on X that he’d add his own underwear to the prize pile if bidding hits six figures—a detail that, while seemingly tongue-in-cheek, has not escaped the attention of the more literal-minded bidders.
For context, this is far from the most irrational internet auction ever—Metro recalls a Pokémon-shaped cheeto that sold for over $87,000. At least here, the money’s going to charity, and the stapler comes with a repaired (and rare) console rather than questionable snack residue. Still, every age has its relics—ours just happen to be misfired office supplies.
The Mythology of the Mishap
It’s worth noting that no new, independent information has emerged from alternative major sources like Yahoo at the time of this writing, but the incident has ricocheted across social feeds and forums in much the same style: disbelief, amusement, and a faint sense of “there but for the grace of a working HVAC system go we all.”
One detail that stands out: according to Reddit discussions, the initial motivation for stapling receipts came directly from sticky tape’s complete surrender in the oppressive Staten Island humidity. One imagines future business textbooks struggling to decide whether this falls under “innovation,” “adaptation,” or “do not replicate.”
So, is there a broader lesson amid all this? The notion that a single staple—born of sweat, impatience, and the meltdown of modern infrastructure—can draw more than a year’s rent on eBay feels both perfectly 2025 and oddly timeless. What will next year’s accidental collectible be? An ink pen used to sign too many midnight pre-orders? A barcode scanner retired in regret? Perhaps the only real constant is our collectively abundant fondness for stories—especially the kind that blend technology, error, and a dash of good-hearted fundraising.
It does provoke the question: at what point do we stop collecting the objects, and start collecting the punchlines? Or have we, somewhat inadvertently, been doing that all along?
