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 unplug the machine—safety first, always. Then comes the excavation. You retrieve a pair of tweezers, a dental pick, maybe an old letter opener. You lie on the floor, cheek against the carpet, flashlight clenched between your teeth, trying to see into the paper-darkness. shredder stuck
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. But you never forget