The Secret Weapon

It’s been nearly a week and I’ve finally gotten to the final phase of the damned filing cabinet project. I’ve been to the office supply store and I am now stocked with hanging folders, labels for same and a whole new approach to this stupid, horrible mind-numbing project. I also bought the one weapon that will give me a big old “V” for Victory on this one…a paper shredder, the Paper Monster Junior. (Insert maniacal laughter here) There’s ABSOLUTELY no backing out once it’s been through the shredder. My husband is not to know of this particular item’s existence until the deed is done, we shall not speak of it. This, of course, also means that Charlie (the eight year old) is not to be alerted to this purchase.
Charlie considers it his sworn duty to keep the general public informed of any and all developments, misdeeds and ongoing events that enter his awareness. He has been known to call 911 and let them know that his mom has bad heartburn from that evening’s pizza. He has taken it upon himself to inform the patrons at the grocery store that root beer makes his dad burp really, really loud. One of his more memorable news flashes came at a family gathering at my parents house. I believe it was a Thanksgiving when he let the assorted cousins, aunts, uncles and various family friends know that his mom told his dad that she’d never understand why Aunt Wendy ever married a jerk like Uncle Gary. Since then, we tend to watch what Charlie gets to overhear.
Now armed for the coming battle, my enthusiasm restored and a fresh approach to the whole process, I attack the tottering piles with renewed vigor. I am out of time if I'm going to call this month a success, both projects completed and my journey to total bliss remaining on track. Several hours later I am nursing several paper cuts and a deep, burning resentment for whoever decided that keeping records of any sort was a good idea. The precariously balanced piles of earlier in the day have been re-sorted from the “KEEP” and “THROW” piles (you may have noticed the “CONSULT WITH HUSBAND” pile has been skillfully taken out of the equation) to smaller piles of related subject matter. That’s it for the day, this really is going to take a while. I’m thinking the weapon of mass destruction is going to have to stay safely hidden for another day. Tomorrow, we inaugurate the paper shredder…I can’t wait.
My husband notices my improved mood over dinner but wisely doesn’t pursue it any further than, “You’re pretty chipper tonight”. I think he suspects something.

THE NEXT DAY


This is it, D-Day for every unnecessary piece of correspondence in the house. Even the children sense something as I’ve made cinnamon rolls on a weekday morning when it’s not anyone’s birthday and we don’t have houseguests. I think perhaps I scared them a little bit when I started humming “Battle Hymn Of The Republic” and giggling from time to time over my coffee. They got ready in record time and fifteen minutes before the school bus was due, headed out into the dark, frozen morning to wait at the corner. I peeked through the curtains and saw them talking seriously as they shot nervous glances back toward the house. After watching carefully to make sure they actually got on the bus, I closed the drapes, locked the doors and turned my attention to the stacks of nonsense that have been plaguing me for the better part of two weeks. Like a scene from one of those senseless action movies the men in my life adore, I suited up. Instead of rounds of ammunition crisscrossing my chest, I have rolls of self-sticking labels. I wield neither machine gun nor grenade launcher, choosing instead to brandish a stapler and paper clips. I have no hidden cache of C-4 to pull out at the last minute to save the day, I need nothing more than the shredder, which I’ve decided to simply call “Junior”, to finish off my enemies. Appropriately attired and armed, Junior and I stepped into battle knowing the enemy was formidable but with no idea of the combined power it faced.
Four hours later, I have reduced the overwhelming mass of sheer crap in the office to one and a half drawers of neatly filed, labeled and chronologically sorted essentials. Poor Junior may never recover from his inaugural run; he rests in the corner, the overload light blinking forlornly, stray pieces of confetti littering the floor and two kitchen sized garbage bags of shredded documentation standing like sentinels on either side of him. One of the things I’ve learned from this particular project is paper shredders get quite hot when they feel they’re being overworked and will actually set things a-smolder when pushed past their limit. Note to self: Junior gets timely breaks next time. I now have two and a half empty drawers where before there was absolutely no way possible I was going to be able to jam one more piece of paper into the file cabinet. It may be a trick of the light, but the cabinet looks somehow friendlier, like a new companion, an ally, a beacon of hope to look to during what may be the dark and troubled times that lie ahead.