while i sit at job #2 i often put my feet up on the paper shredder. it has a three-way switch: on, auto and off. today as i sat with my feet on the paper shredder, my jeans hanging precariously close to the sharp grinding teeth that eat all of my paperwork mistakes, i must have bumped the button from auto to on and the thing started grinding away, shredding my jeans. i guess it looks a little weird, but whatever. it scared the holy hell out of me.
have you seen the industrial trucks that drive around in cities, offering to shred documents and evidence? they probably don't advertise that they shred evidence, but think about it, why else would someone want to get rid of that much paper, so much paper that your typical office max special paper shredder won't cut it? it's because you're preparing to stiff somebody, the common working man and his poor family. don't you people have any souls? but anyway, there's the guy that drives the truck and then in the back there's the dude that just shreds to his little heart's content. shred, shred, shred. but in the midst of shredding, you can read. you can read mundane information and juicy secrets, whatever people want to get rid of. and then you can shred. it's a job that i imagine to be very fulfilling - you get to fill up all those bags and bags of shreds and cross cuts and shreds and confetti - so you can see just how much progress you've made. all the while in the back of a truck. i used to want that job. but i hate paper cuts.