THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, August 16, 1996 TAG: 9608150157
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Over Easy
SOURCE: Jo-Ann Clegg
LENGTH: 68 lines
On the day of our wedding anniversary two weeks ago, my mother arrived in my kitchen carrying a fancy gift bag and a very large box.
``Happy anniversary,'' she said. ``I was going to make a nice package but this thing is too big to fit into the bag.''
``Or any other bag,'' I said as I relieved her of the package.
My mother, a consummate gadgeteer, had decided to give us the ultimate gadget. A personal paper shredder.
``Wow,'' Bill said when he saw the gift, ``That's great. I've been wanting one of these for years.''
He extracted the beast (about the size and weight of a half-grown hog) from its box, plugged it in behind the kitchen table and started shredding.
Mother beamed.
``Isn't it wonderful?'' she asked as Bill fed Porky three years' worth of canceled checks. The years were 1958 through 1961. He's been trying to figure out a way of safely disposing of them since 1968.
Bill joined Mother in beaming. ``I can't think of a better gift,'' he said.
``Right here is good,'' Bill said.
The next day, after shredding 1962 through 1965, Bill moved the beast to my sewing room. Right in front of my sewing machine. In the place where my chair used to be.
``And what do I do when I want to sew?'' I asked. ``Move it,'' he said.
The next evening my mother brought two friends over for a guided tour. Not of my house, but of the shredder.
``See,'' she said as she fed it some 40-year-old checks of her own, ``it will chew up five pieces of paper at the same time.''
The next morning I paid a few bills and decided to use the shredder to destroy those parts that you tear off before you put the piece that says ``Return this part with your payment'' into the envelope.
On my first try, I shredded the wrong piece. I realized my mistake when I saw the word ``return'' disappearing into Porky's guts.
On my second try, I shredded the envelope.
On my third try, I shredded three pages of my checkbook register.
I spent the rest of the morning calling credit card companies and the bank, trying to correct my mistakes.
In the process, however, I was actually becoming somewhat fond of the hungry little beast. I figured I would like it even better if I moved it into my office.
That presented some problems. All of my electrical receptacles are either in use or hidden behind furniture. I finally found one available outlet in the two inches of space between my bookcase and the wall. To use it, I would have to feed the pig's umbilical cord through a very small opening at floor level between my desk and the bookcase.
While finding that out, I tangled with a cactus. The thing is 14 inches tall, a half-inch in diameter and has been growing in my office window for the past 17 years. What it lacks in stem growth, it makes up in thorns.
Battered and bleeding (or maybe I should say folded, spindled and mutilated), I went to the garage in search of something to help thread the cord through the opening. I returned with a 3-foot-long windshield scraper/snow brush combination.
At about that time my mother arrived at the door. ``How come you're bleeding?'' she asked. ``And what on earth are you doing with a snow brush? It's 85 degrees out there.''
``Plugging in the shredder,'' I told her. ``Oh, good,'' she said, unfazed, ``I've got a bag full of checks here that I want to get rid of.''
I sighed, Charlie growled and mother waited patiently for me to make the electrical connection so she could play with what had quickly become her and Bill's favorite gadget of all. by CNB