A Matter of Incline

I stepped off the slick packaging onto the wide wooden expanse of the desk. Directly in my path lay an overturned metallic stapler, its upper arm wedged open at a sharp twenty-degree angle. I paused, assessing its hinge tension and the friction of the steel plate beneath. It looked rigid enough. Shifting my weight onto my left heel, I planted a foot firmly on the cold slope, testing the grade. The metal held without a shudder. Naturally, I climbed right up to the apex, planted both boots on the pivot point, and stood completely immovable, daring gravity to argue.