Mission Accomplished: The Paper Shredder Chase

I'm not referring to the official creepy union between Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise. I'm referring to the most recent installment of drama to affect me at my place of residence that I will call The Paper Shredder Case.

My neighbor is so loaded that he wipes his ass with monogrammed towels. Sometimes he throws luxury items away because he's purchased even more luxurious items to replace them. A few weeks ago, I found a perfectly fabulous full-sized document shredder in the recycle room on my apartment floor. I plugged it in. It worked. I dragged it into my apartment and shredded everything but the kitchen sink and the cat. Then having no place to store it really, I put it in the kitchen, and I tripped over it for a few weeks.

Friday night after 4,000 beers, I came home a memo under the door. When I spied it, I literally shouted, "NOW WHAT?" thinking it was going to refer to someone having a problem with me about something or another concerning whatever, and I am simply sick of everyone so I wasn't excited to read it. We had our yearly co-op meeting the other night where I was chided ever so publicly about sending out a building-wide memo. Here was another building-wide memo. The subject? Building Paper Shredder is Missing.

"The document shredder was last seen in the recycle room on the 7th floor. It was put there to be returned to the basement where it is shared by all tenants. It was not garbage. If you have the shredder please contact the super or doorman to arrange for pick up."

Oooops! Well, there is no possible way I'm admitting that I have the thing, I thought. My name has been in the friggin' news too damn much around here lately. So this morning around dawn, I changed into my hamburglar outfit and lugged the shredder down two flights in two pieces (it's heavy, man) and stuck it in the fifth floor recycling room. Then I threw out all the document shreds in another garbage can on the 10th floor.

Basta!

Mission accomplished.

I hate everyone.