To Whomever Leaves the Paper Towel Roll Half Empty,
Yesterday morning was a normal day for me. As I poured coffee into my mug this morning, half expecting it to spontaneously combust because of the ragtag way I treated it, I prepared myself for the exercise in frustration I was about to experience. Internally, I visualized grabbing a paper towel and gently swiping the moist puddle that was bound to appear.
Slowly extending my hand forward, I reached to fuck myself over.
All of my appendages betrayed me, recognizing the empty roll from a sense of touch. Was it just the roll itself?
I wondered. Did you guys give up too? If I could speak directly to the Last Roll User, whoever you may fancy yourselves to be, I would say a few things.
First of all, you must have some sort of supernatural gift that allows humans to completely ignore the future repercussions of using the last paper towel. Magicians everywhere owe you one because you, my friend, are what makes them magicians. Watch as the roll disappears right before our eyes—poof!—just like responsibility.
Secondly, I’m sure by now you believe in a slew of fairies responsible for refilling paper towel rolls. Gi.exit) Those elusive creatures creep into houses when everyone is asleep and exchange the depleted roll with a full one. I don’t know what you visualize when you think about your paper towel fairy, but allow me to paint you a picture.
They can’t visit often. The Individual Responsible For Restocking Paper Towel Rolls In The Kitchen lives right here in my kitchen. I have been meditating on how you mentally justify your decision while you make that life-changing choice.
Maybe you think, “Someone else will take care of this little problem of mine,” or “That’s not my job.” Or maybe you tell yourself, “Not my roll.” Someone has to do it though, right? Someone has to be the Paper Towel Goddess sent from heaven to carry our selfish burdens…and get paid hourly, most likely. How can something so simple be so easily defeated?
I refuse to believe that there aren’t people attempting to prank you by placing full rolls where you left empty. To everyone who takes two seconds to screw your successors over, I see you. I thought long and hard about how many other areas of my household could intertwine with this minimalist standard of decency before I realized I could not have been the only person born during the years of E.
coli scares. Colon. Some of you go above and beyond with what I like to call the “place new roll on top of empty roll’s cardboard tube” technique.
Although this method is highly underachieving, it does take a certain level of understanding to know that you should never, ever remove the old roll. Instead, you leave the last sad remnants of its cylindrical brethren and balance another atop it. This teaches the future visitors of that roll that help is on the way.
Someone caring enough to take the extra steps to place the new roll on top, all while conserving the old roll for whatever reason, sees potential in your visit. The effort it takes to remove that last roll and not replace it with a new one perfectly mirrors the thought process needed to complete this task. Not to mention you feel like you actually did something by following this method.
Maybe you could even spin that trash can into a human pyramid. Poorly, but with true spirit of a three-legged Elephant Straight from Circus City USA who probably peed all over the dance floor when he saw his reflection. I often question whether this habit carries on past merely paper towel rolls.
Do you like running your car until the last gallon of gas is gone for the next driver’s benefit? Do you finish reading the last page of a book and not replace it on the shelf? Maybe you eat the last Crestie of corn flakes and put the box back in the pantry.
There is method to your madness, those of you who leave the last towel on the roll. You’re quite consciously inconsiderate, and here’s how I know. I tried this experiment on Tuesday morning, just last week.
Fed up with the persistent irritation of seeing an empty YET ALWAYS THERE roll, I wanted to see if someone would actually take the new roll if I took out the touching element. The variables of this experiment had me and the normal day controls while absent subjects took care of business. By Thursday morning, it became obvious that whomever the three other humans living in my kitchen were struck with common sense, because they all used the rest of their respective paper towels and finally acknowledged that those rectangles stubbed off of what used to be.
A roll of paper towels miraculously appeared! Oh, how my world righted itself. Someone had taken down the empty roll by Friday.
What a step up this really was. By Saturday I had reached my threshold for how much individual human beings and society as a whole could suck at maintaining simple hygiene standards. Please allow me to get to my point without hurling myself into a pit of overdramatic metaphors.
We are better than squirrels, my unidentified parchment pushers. Squirrels wouldn’t even leave the empty inside tube if they had opposable thumbs and access to toilet paper rolls. They don’t understand the concept of clean or have the ability to encourage acceptable social standards that we force others around them to.
Maybe you were raised in a dysfunctional family that neglected to teach you the basics. For those who may need some visual guidance follow along with me: 1. Notice that it is empty.
The empty roll should also catch your eye. 2. Take out the cardboard roll that used to support your lovely paper towels.
3. Find the FULL roll next to the empty one and… ta-da! 4.
Make sure whatever you are about to mount onto the paper towel holder has the potential to actually be used. (PS. These steps can be mixed and matched to create another helpful household epidemic that involves the individual responsible for making you follow step 4.)
I’m half tempted to propose a blame system. Place a camera inside your spice cabinet that takes pictures of your butt as you wipe then displays it next to the empty roll. However, those of you that are inclined to do it again wouldn’t give a flying fuck about how embarrassed you’d look next to your name.
So where do I stand? Am I Team_keep-it-fun or Team-public-shaming-sex-offenders-only? What really scares me isn’t the white-sheet-donning of your ass.
It’s what the empty paper towel roll represents. That otherwise useless tube signifies a culture so indifferent to ourselves that we can outsource wiping our asses. It’s a reflection of “not my job” and when that mentality is magnified to fit global issues, things like unrinsed dishes at restaurants and college admissions get swept under the rug.
At least we aren’t at a one-to-one correlation with global warming and toilet paper usage. Is there anything that could even compare? If there is one bathroom object that could be tied to the looming apocalypse, we can tackle that problem with a much more life-positive perspective.
From now on, every time you take a crap I want you to think about what you do when you wipe. Toilet paper, paper towels, tissues… whatever your weapon of choice may be when you have the urgent need to wipe your butt, think about the tube that’s left behind when you’re done. Stare into the abyss my friends.
Swirl that circley void of clean paper towels around your mind and accept the responsibility of what you’re supposed to do next. Restock the damn paper towel roll. Sure, restock the bathroom counters, kitchen shelves and laundry room cabinets.
But cherish those moments when you refill your soul with what’s next. Civilization. Or don’t.
Because as long as an empty paper towel roll sits over your children’s head sticking out of the cabinets like a cold cup of joe, nothing you do will matter.
Life is short,
Horace Grimley
P.S. Not to ostracize those of you who wipe your toilet seat, but we’ve given the same psychological analysis to you too.
With slight variations, of course. Yeah, you toilet seat wipebers. You creampuffs that churn down the mountain into Satan’s worst neighborhood— think cooler, deeper.”
LEAVE IT.
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