Furious after pulling three shredded pieces of paper towel when trying to dry my hands

After washing your hands in a department store or public restroom, with water droplets all over them, the most satisfying part should be coolly pulling out a sheet of thick, flat paper towel and drying your hands thoroughly. But fate always plays tricks on you at the narrow exit of a metal dispenser. Usually, only about 0.5 cm of the white paper edge is visible at the bottom of the machine, thin as a cicada's wing, and already half-softened by the water droplets flicked by the previous user. I carefully extend my thumb and index finger, hold my breath, and gently pull downwards with the gentlest, most even force. "Riiip." A sound of utter disintegration. What I expected to be a whole rectangular towel instantly suffered a comminuted fracture, leaving only a fingernail-sized triangular shred clinging to my wet fingertips, while a mocking click echoed from inside the dispenser. I refused to believe it, changed my angle, pinched the remaining corner, and yanked hard. "Tear--" Great, the second sheet was ripped open vertically down the middle into two long, thin strips, still dead in the metal crevice. By this point, the water on my hands hadn't dried; instead, the repeated pulling had turned the paper scraps into a sticky, white paste, stubbornly clinging to my palm lines and under my nails. The people waiting to wash their hands behind me were staring at my back. In that instant, my sanity snapped. I just wanted to become the Hulk and rip the entire damn metal casing apart with my bare hands. In the end, under everyone's gaze, I could only shake my hands, now covered in paper shreds, with a dark expression and silently shove them into my jacket pockets to let them air dry.