After procrastinating for approximately 10 years, I finally decided to shred some of our (very) old files. It's a noisy business, frustrating too, as the shredder needs regular breaks for tea and biscuits, and will not accept more than two sheets at a time, despite flagrantly displaying an eight sheet capacity logo on the top.
Being the top notch shop assistant that I am, I cease my shredding activities when a customer comes in. It might carry on making a noise for a few seconds as it reluctantly chews a sheet of paper roughly the thickness of a cheap tissue.
On to today. A lady comes in, and after the morning pleasantries are done, she asked what the noise was.
I reply: "Oh, I'm shredding some incriminatory documents before Interpol finds me again."
"Oh. I see."
I now find myself stuck. Do I say it was just a joke and make her feel awkward and uncomfortable that she didn't get it. Or do I continue to let her think I am a potentially dangerous master criminal, laying low in sleepy Warwick until my plans for global domination come to fruition.
I have made my decision, and from now on, you may refer to me as The Short Shadow.
Available to hire for dastardly deeds....will work for extremely large sums of money.
Or a decent fucking shredder.