Paloma was feeding tape into the label printer when the app changed the number of copies to ten all by itself. She was standing at a table in the cooking club room, preparing labels for six jars of biscuits. Severyn, who ran the club, was setting out plates ahead of the parents' arrival. Paloma wanted to show him she could do more than just bake something—she could make the presentation look tidy, too. So she had borrowed his little label maker. Handwriting didn’t feel quite grand enough for biscuits she’d spent half the morning baking.

She had just changed the counter on the screen back to one and printed “Oat.” The label came out neatly, so Paloma decided to add the ingredients and a friendly “Enjoy!” But due to a glitch, every edit secretly reset the copy count back to ten. Busy perfecting the layout, she didn’t notice and tapped Print. The printer cheerfully produced ten identical long labels. Paloma stacked the extras beside her phone. Severyn had just cleared the middle of the table for her, and now she particularly wanted to put something there that looked better than a jar bearing a single, brief word.

For the next jar, she added a border, the ingredients, and a separate line about homemade butter. The counter jumped back to ten after her edit, but she had already tapped Print. A long stream of tape spilled over the edge of the table. Paloma caught it with both hands, rolled her eyes, and pressed the power button with her elbow. The printer finally stopped. She could have just picked up a pen, but Severyn had already placed the first labeled jar in front of the plates. She wanted the rest to match—just without a surplus of labels fit for an entire bakery.

Paloma found the reset button underneath the device and held it until the light blinked. The glitch was gone: the printer was finally producing one label at a time again. Unfortunately, the factory defaults also restored the smallest font size. With the parents already walking in, she simply shrugged, quickly printed all six names over again, and stuck them onto the jars.

She swept the spare labels into the trash bin, moved the jars right to the edge of the table so the tiny text could be read up close, and popped open the lids. At least the biscuits themselves were still a normal size.