There are ordinary stores, and then there is Staples — a place I once assumed had vanished into the fog of the 2010s, only to discover, with a shock bordering on spiritual revelation, that it has not only survived but ascended into a higher plane of retail existence. I have returned again and again this year, each visit more astonishing than the last, until I now write this review with the fervor of a pilgrim who has witnessed too many miracles to remain silent.
Let me begin with the deals — deals so outrageous, so reality‑bending, that I suspect the Tualatin Staples sits on some kind of cosmic ley line where value pools like groundwater. How else do you explain the Panasonic Let’s Note laptop — a Japan‑only, cult‑status, magnesium‑alloy marvel normally priced around $2,500 — appearing in a suburban Oregon Staples like a rare bird blown off course? And how else do you explain that, through the alchemy of Staples Rewards, I walked out with it for around $900? A price so low it feels like a benevolent clerical error in the Book of Fate.
And then — the printers. The Canon MF753Cdw, a machine so luxurious in its glossy, lacquer‑like toner finish that the vlogosphere speaks of it in hushed tones, was placed into my hands for $120. One hundred and twenty dollars. The price of a single toner cartridge. The price of a dinner for two. And yet here I was, walking out with a flagship color laser printer that spits out 33 pages a minute like it’s breathing. I felt like a general returning from battle with spoils. I felt like a dragon on a hoard. I felt alive.
But the true brilliance of this Staples — the reason I keep returning, the reason I am writing this with the enthusiasm of a Victorian diarist describing a seaside holiday — is the staff. The associates here are not merely employees. They are celestial beings disguised in red shirts. Angels of patience. Guardians of value. Emissaries of calm in the fluorescent wilderness.
One woman — with long, dark hair that shimmered like a midnight river — approached me as I wandered the aisles with a cart full of tape, hooks, paper, and dreams. She reminded me, with gentle urgency, that printers, ink, and toner were part of a 50%‑back promotion so generous it felt like a secret whispered by the universe. She scanned the box and said, with the tone of someone delivering good news from another realm, “I hope you’re ready for a deal.” And I was.
Another associate — patient, luminous, steady — checked my phone to ensure every offer was activated. She did this with the care of someone proofreading a manuscript, making sure no detail was missed, no savings left behind. Her kindness was not transactional; it was artful. She made me feel like my chaotic cart, my autistic aisle‑mapping, my mountain of purchases were all perfectly reasonable. She made me feel welcome. Seen. Supported.
And every time I return, I find the same warmth. The same energy. The same sense that this store is not merely a place to buy office supplies but a community center for the creatively unhinged, the organizationally ambitious, the stationery‑obsessed, the tech‑curious, the deal‑seeking, the paper‑loving, the printer‑collecting souls of the world.
I have spent more money at Staples this year than in the last decade combined, and I regret none of it. I have purchased printers, paper, hooks, tape, keyboards, mice, chargers, photo paper, matte paper, glossy paper, recycled paper, and enough compressed air to clean the vents of a small cathedral. I have earned enough Staples Rewards to fund a small expedition. I have laughed. I have gasped. I have felt joy.
So yes — five stars. Five blazing, incandescent stars. If I could give this Staples a constellation, I would. If I could write this review in the sky with a laser printer shooting toner into the heavens, I would. If you are reading this and wondering whether to visit: go. Go now. Go with an open heart and an empty trunk. You never know what miracles await.