Photo courtesy Flickr
I’m on my third shredder. The first one died, I thought, and didn’t discover until I unpacked its replacement that there was a reset button. Both had been too small, so I bought a larger model that’s still too small.
It may be that the shredder bin has replaced the ironing basket as maintenance most likely to be ignored. Emptying the thing (it took months to find the release pip on the bottom) covers the floor with excelsior that hollers for the vacuum, and I have to finesse the shreddings into a bag to keep the city happy.
I daydreamed about hacking the shredder onto a large hollow base, but circumventing the safety devices wasn’t worth the hassle. Now I line a wastebasket with plastic and dump the chaff in as it accumulates. In a perfect world, the shredder could be lined with a fireproof bag that would be filled with home-grown insulation.