Advice From Down Under

My wife has advised me this is a disgusting subject, so be forewarned – you may not find this funny. But I’m so put off by this specter, I can’t help myself.

A wise old uncle many years ago told me there were two kinds of people in this world – folders and crumplers. At first, I was amused, and thought this highly improbable. But as I contemplated his assertion, I realized he was absolutely correct. Two kinds of people. Folders are those where everything has to be just so, the OCD-types – you know the ones: engineers, architects; highly organized, high strung, perfectionists. Makes one wonder how someone can make everything in life a perfectionist pursuit, even the idea of sitting on the crapper isn’t beyond a pause for reflection, introspection, and improvement of process. Yeah, now we’re talking like an engineer!

Then there are the crumplers, the people who take life as it comes, who look at everyday occurrences as a new creative opportunity. Who still look in the toilet bowl and can remember the day they exclaimed, “Mommy, look what I made!” Crumplers are those impulsive types, who are often in a hurry, distracted, ADHD, looking for the next squirrel. They seek freedom, choose ambiguity over structure, impulsiveness over planning, creative flow over disciplined reasoning. These are the guys who toss a target in the bowl and then try to hit it. You know, that creative flow.

Now that we have established two types of people exist, let’s delve, if we dare, beyond the bowl. Near the bowl’s universe, most likely tied to a wall, is a brother in arms – the toilet paper. The stuff that only exists in first world countries, where that western invention, the flushing toilet, dominates the loo landscape. There are many kinds of toilet paper – plain, colored, two-ply, embossed, decorative (hmm, that sounds ominous), and yes, the dreaded single-ply. These are the kinds of choices those creative types love to conjure up.

Plain tissue is the kind boring people prefer. After all, this isn’t something fun to be looked forward to. This is a function that, unfortunately, necessarily must be dealt with. Get it and get it over with. Let’s move on, shall we?

Colored paper. Do I need to say anything more? With those creative types, it’s hard to imagine this not being combined with decoration and embossing. You know the kind. Everything is all rosey, Barbie pink, Ken blue and wonderful. Even a tough movement is to be cherished as a great learning experience.

The old standard two-ply dominates the industry, but it comes in many forms. There’s the Cadillac of two-ply, Charmin, which strives to make wiping a transcendent experience. These are the guys who decorate and emboss everything. You know the Three Bears are just waiting for Goldilocks to show them the most pleasant way out of the water closet. They shoot for the excitement of anticipation, where you can’t wait to reach for that lovely, luxuriously soft toilet tissue to caress your buns. It’s so exciting, one can hardly wait for the next opportunity. Multiple passings in one day would be heavenly, almost as good as sex.

There are other, lesser two-plies that run the gamut from acceptable to marginally above single-ply. That leads us at last, and certainly least, to the feared single-ply. This paper is a challenge for all who have the more and more frequent misfortune to encounter this horrible excuse for feigned civility in a public restroom. No one would ever put this stuff in their own bath, even if they had a death wish. This near see-through tissue makes one wonder how any paper pulp mill can produce something so thin. It’s impressive. How do they do it?! But the impressiveness of its production ends right there.

This stuff has to fall to the advantage of the folder. After all, some assurance of consistency is essential. Folding this stuff into at least four layers is a minimalist requirement. I may be giving myself away here, but how do crumplers do it? How much do they grab to assure themselves an adequate barrier from their tainted orifice? These are the guys I hear in the stall next to me just reeling it off like there’s no tomorrow, pulling and yanking that junk off the roll like you can’t get enough to shield your dainty hands from what lies below. Ugh! What if you have breakthrough!! Oh, my God, it’s on me! What now?! Oh, this is so disgusting! And I have long nails! Crap. Yup, that’s what it is alright. Now what?

Well, I would guess, as this has never happened to me, an examination of the contamination would be required. In other words, a finger inspection. One must assess the damage and decide how best to move forward. After all, the original problem also still exists, but now we must clean two things. This is just getting completely out of hand.

And who has the nerve to be so cheap as to stock their restrooms with this completely unacceptable garbage? I don’t see how it can be any more economical, as all of us just quadruple down on the amount of paper we pull off the roll. Because, once you’ve experienced it, no one ever wants to experience that breakthrough thing ever again!

I blame whomever it is that buys that junk. I want to call it crap or shit, but that would be confusing. An experience like that, and the growing prevalence of this stuff just makes it more imperative than ever to follow your mother’s sage advice and “Be sure to go to the bathroom before we leave!” And when you get older, like me, these urges tend to get less and less predictable. On top of that, our manual dexterity declines. It’s just a set up for something awful to happen. And when you’re out with friends, what’s more embarrassing and terrifying than the prospect of a smelly finger?

So saddle up, friends. Make sure this will never happen to you. Think about bringing a reserve roll. Better yet, stay close to the wife’s purse – she probably has some safety stock in there somewhere. Just be sure not to give anyone the finger.