All due respect to Nathan, but this isn’t even close. I own a paper shredder, as it happens—come to think of it, a castoff from my own father, who upgraded to a fancier model—and I take ridiculous pleasure in grinding up my paper trash. I can only explain it in the most hazy terms, but here’s my best shot: I guess it’s the pretending to be a Machiavellian operator. Doing something as mundane as tossing out the credit-card solicitations I get in the mail suddenly turns into an operation out of a John Le Carré novel. Before, I was disposing of the junk mail; now I am involved in espionage, and I emit a quiet little Henry Kissinger heh-heh-heh every time I drop a piece of paper in. I’ll never have an Aston Martin with a smokescreen package, but we do what we can.
Also, if you have to ship anything, the shreddings are cheaper than bubble wrap. It’s economical!
I would say that, yes, I am a freak… except that I am not alone in this, by even the slightest measure. All I can say is, consider these people.