It was a quiet evening at the Pentagon, the kind where the hushed hum of air conditioning and the occasional clatter of keyboards create a serene atmosphere. Most of the building had already emptied out, with only a few dedicated souls burning the midnight oil.
A young officer, freshly minted and eager to impress, was diligently working in his office. The clock struck 8 P.M. as he finally decided to call it a day and gathered his papers, ready to head home. Just as he stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, he spotted a rather perplexing sight.
There, standing in front of the imposing classified document shredder, was none other than General Thaddeus “Iron Fist” McGuffin, a man known for his stern demeanour and no-nonsense attitude. But tonight, the General looked unusually flustered, a piece of paper clutched in his hand like a cryptic treasure map.
The young officer snapped to attention. “Good evening, General,” he said with a respectful nod.
“Evening, Lieutenant,” grumbled the General, glancing up from his puzzling predicament. “I need help. Do you know how to work this contraption?” He gestured towards the machine with a touch of helplessness.
“My secretary’s gone home, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to run it,” he admitted, sounding almost sheepish.
“Yes, sir,” replied the young officer, stepping forward with the confidence of a man who had mastered every piece of office equipment in existence. “I can handle that for you.”
With practiced ease, he flipped the power switch and the shredder hummed to life. The General handed over the document, and the officer carefully fed it into the machine. The shredder’s teeth made quick work of the document.
Just as the last page disappeared, the General turned and said, “Now,” looking expectantly at the young officer, “I just need one copy…”
