There is something grand about the elegant process by which single becomes plural, especially with shiny machines full of options, colors, and a glorious efficient speed. Even tending to a jammed machine is a talent, with such satisfaction when one can cancel a call to the paramedics because of CPR performed.

Shredding, however, I despise. If copying is creation, shredding is destruction, a violent process cynically testifying to misanthropy, opting for ruin over recycling.

Every job I have had has involved copy machines in some way, to my delight, would that this streak continue to repeat.