When an unstoppable thumbtack meets an impenetrable wall

I pulled a page with a column I liked out of the newspaper, positioned it on the wall above my desk, and made sure it was parallel with the ceiling. Then I started pushing a thumbtack through the top-right corner. It went through the paper with ease, but the pin’s progress halted when it met the wall.

I pressed harder, as the blood drained out from under my thumbnail, the plastic tack dug into the skin of my thumbprint, and the joint of my thumb bent back to the point of hyperextension.

And it still wouldn’t go in. I didn’t want to take my thumb off the tack, because then the pages would fall and I’d have to go through positioning them again.

I was resolved. I had to press on. So I took a step back, reset my feet, and mustered all my strength—up from my legs, through my torso and arm, and into my little lionhearted thumb.

At that moment, the whole universe was simplified, as in the movies that make you believe good and evil are so obviously distinguished. I had brought my sharpened thumbtack to the battlefield and the wall had met me there with its impenetrable shield.

I was starting to sweat. I could feel my thumb joint bending back, about to break. My heel throbbed from driving into the carpet, drawing up force through my braced body.

The weight of the wall was bearing down upon me. I was almost finished. But then I thought of how nice the newspaper would look, hanging above my desk. And that gave me hope.

I took one last deep breath, bellowed a battle cry, and lunged forward. Finally, with a soft thud, the pin plunged, up to its plastic hilt, into the drywall.

I sighed, spun around, and fell, with my back against the wall, then slid down to a seated position and slumped over, my shoulders heaving as I panted.

I lifted my hand to my weary, half-closed eyes and looked at my thumb. There was a circular, red-rimmed indentation, but no blood. I wiggled it back and forth, no break.

It was over. I could go back to my family, up the stairs, and tell them not to worry, the newspaper had been hung.

Then I realized something. I leaned my head back and looked up. The newspaper was hanging at a slanted angle from the one tack in the top-right corner. There were still three more corners that needed to be tacked.