Eventually, you succeed. After twenty minutes of picking and swearing, the wadded ball of paper emerges like a thorn from a paw. The shredder roars back to life, suddenly eager, hungry again. You feed the rest of the documents one cautious sheet at a time, watching the slot like a lifeguard.
You pull. A corner rips free. You pull again. More tiny confetti. The paper is jammed so deep it might as well be welded to the axles. shredder stuck
The whir becomes a whump-whump-whump . A low, mechanical groan. And then, silence. Eventually, you succeed
But you never forget. From now on, you'll remove staples. You’ll avoid glossy magazine covers. And you’ll never, ever feed a sticky note into that black slot again. You feed the rest of the documents one
The Grinding Groan of a Stalled Machine