Petrol-Driven Cheese Grater

The Grater is hidden from sight, waiting, concealed behind the door of a wall-mounted kitchen cupboard. To those who are not aware of its presence, the cupboard would seem to be the resting place of many innocent dishes, but the only feature that sets the cabinet housing the Grater apart from the other cabinets is a small, iron chute, a span in diameter, descending from the cupboard floor, ending above the counter. The Grater is capitalized for dramatic effect.

So has been established the location of the Grater, now will be established the function; the Grater grates cheese.

The owner of the Grater is a person faced with a dilemma, a problem of how to spread a block of cheese over his tuna casserole. The owner of the Grater, as he owns a Grater, knows the solution to the problem. He quickly dashes over to his Grater-concealing cabinet and, with humble respect, opens the door.

He reveals the Grater. He gazes upwards in awe. He notes the Vespa-sized gasoline engine at the upper portion of the cabinet, shining in its suit of polished and well-maintained chrome, the lesser starter motor, and the hand pedal mechanism to generate the energy for it. He notes also the lower half of the cabinet and the machinery entwined in it as intricately as a spider's silken web; the silver windlass, the blower motor, the hoist rope, the elevator platform, the funnel below,the drop platform, and the magnificent row of gleaming, counterrotating blades, placed very near each other, each as sharp as a razor and as long as a scythe. The blades are hooded by an arched piece of steel.

The awestrucken user lowers the block of cheese onto the elevator platform and winches it up with the windlass, which emits a satisfying click every centimeter that it hoists. The elevator reaches the drop platform and lets off the cheese. He places plate under the chute and reaches up to the hand-pedal to start getting up electricity for the starter. He gives it thirty spins, and flips a red switch on the starter.

A tiny whirring starts, soon dwarved by the insane roaring of the engine, followed by the dazzling spinning of the blades at 7000 RPM. The exhaust is pumped up through a chute and released into the sky with a semi truck-style steam flap for the neighbors to see. Nothing else can by heard to the user, and he soon finds himself cackling maniacally in the uproar. He pulls a chain, which releases the platform on which the cheese is resting and it falls into the blades, being shreded into perfectly fine peices which are swept deeper into the machinery by the blades. Any rogue shreds are guided downward by the hood.

It is at this point that the blower motor is engaged, using a propeller to pump air out of tiny holes lining every inner surface of the funnel and chute. The cheese falls into the funnel and the thrust of the fan lets the shreds glide gently downward without sticking to the sides. The Grater's devices slowly stop and reset. The engine stops its roaring and slows; the windlass disengages and the elevator falls back to the counter. The madman's cheese grating ecstasy is almost over. A small pile of finely shredded cheese falls neatly into a pile on his plate. The blower motor comes to a stop and it is over.

He shuts the cabinet. He has his cheese. He has his casserole.