The Shredder

I had never seen the need for shredding. To me it always seemed to be something of a display of paranoia to rip everything into tiny pieces before throwing it away, just in case somebody was spying on you. But the other day I was given a shredder by a friend. An odd gift you might think, but he said he had two and I gratefully took one off his hands. Either that or he'd overheard my neighbours discussing my bank details with the postman and had decided enough was enough.

I used it for the first time today. I ran some discarded invoices through to start. Not something I really want everyone to know about. The shredder hungrily chomped away until there were hundreds of tiny pieces. I opened the lid and checked the contents of the bin. Satisfied that the paper inside was now completely void of legible information I closed the lid, rustling it a little just to be on the safe side. I looked around the room for more.

Old phone bills. Can't have anyone seeing these. I put them in page by page and watched them disappear into certain oblivion. I was enjoying myself now. Next half a shoe box. I had no particular reason to hide from the world the kind if shoes I'd bought, after all they were on display at the bottom of my legs every time I left the house. I just wanted to see what would happen. The blades began to turn and devoured with venom, the empty shoe container. The shredder struggled to the point of almost certain failure, then miraculously held it together. The cardboard was defeated. In future I'll consider alternative methods for the discreet disposal of footware packaging.

On a roll now I continued with the permanent destruction of anything displaying personal information. My plans to meet friends for dinner now seemed insignificant compared to the importance of the task at hand. I would simply have to cancel.

Schedules and itineraries from work, they needed to be destroyed. Credit card reciepts, letters from the bank, utilities bills, straight into the jaws of data death. My expired blockbuster video card, yesterday's train ticket, a receipt for a box of half price strawberries, it all had to go. Who knows how this kind of sensitive information could be used in the wrong hands?

Eventually the bin was full and I'd run out of legitimate things to shred. I emptied the container into a bag and carried it to the local recycling point. I then dispersed the contents evenly across two bins, reversed my jacket, and took a deliberately awkward route home in case I was being followed.

Well, you can never be too careful.

A Handy Man To Know

I've always had problems washing my hands. Many a time I've left a trip to the toilet with soap up my nose and a paper towel stuck to my head. Tonight was different - there was a toilet assistant. He turned on the tap and gestured for me to put my hands underneath. I rubbed them together under his close supervision then allowed him to dispense a clear, viscous, liquid onto both. I continued to rub my hands together until clean. Next he offered a paper towel. I used it to dry my hands. Revelatory! I would never have known what to do so I rewarded him with 1 dollar. He was pleased and grinned at me like a cat from Cheshire.