Dear Whomever It May Concern (and as much as I may wish to hide this from you, I know who you are),
This morning was not an anomaly for me. The coffee in my cup fully commited to ejecting itself and making a grungy mess on my kitchen counter. I mentally prepared myself in reserving a paper towel, imagining the quick and precise movement with which I would mop up the wet mess.
I reached out to frustrate and anger myself further. This time, my hand closed around from the feel of it, I assumed the paper towel. Which led to thoughts of whether it was just the cardboard roll, conceding defeat at every turn. O Leaver of the Empty Roll, I would like to speak to you directly, whatever manner of person you choose to imagine.
No doubt you possess a preternatural talent that enables a person to completely disregard the impending consequence of consistently using the last sheet of paper towel. Such a skill single-handedly renders you the most accomplished magician in existence, as the roll disappears from sight the same time as responsibility. Magicians owe it all to you.
By now, I assume you believe in fairies who magically fill paper towel rolls. Those are the fictional beings that, during the nighttime hours, swap out the empty rolls for new, full ones. I don’t know what captivating image comes to mind for the kitchen fairy that works like an unsung hero for paper towels, but I can guess.
The fairy can’t be paying my kitchen any visits. The person that is tasked with changing the paper towel roll in the kitchen is me. I have spent quite some time considering what might go through your head in that critical decision making scenario.
Perhaps you think, “This little burden I’ve created will be dealt with by someone else,” or, “This does not concern me.” Maybe, “Not my responsibility.” It is a job for someone, somewhere—a designated Paper Towel Replacement Technician who is paid by the hour for this type of service.
That something so unsophisticated could be so easily undone is baffling. It simply cannot be believed that it is not being attempted, especially in defiance of those who do take the sparse effort needed to restore order after a mess has been created. I began to think how many other places in my home this bare-minimum standard of tidiness could be utilized in because I surely couldn’t have been the only one who, so to speak, lived through the e-coli threat in the 1970s.
A few of you have employed a technique I find remarkably ingenious: the “balance the new roll on top of the empty cardboard tube” technique. This arrangement leaves much to be desired, but it requires understanding that under no circumstances should the old roll be removed. Instead, the old roll will simply be left in place and a new roll will be placed on top. This arrangement signals a generous understanding that restoration is required. The effort required is bound to be minimal, as is the decision making required. Moreover, using this method makes one feel as if something has been accomplished.
You could even attempt to pull it off as a high-wire act, albeit a bit clumsily, resembling a circus performer who had just looked in a bathroom mirror. I’ve oft wondered if this behavior is limited to paper towel rolls, or if it extends to other facets of your life. Do you enjoy leaving your gas tank empty for the next person on the road?
Are there situations in which the last page of a book is all that remains to be read, yet the book is not put back where it belongs? Is it possible that a lone corn flake is left in the pantry only to be returned to the box? The pattern hints at someone who is nearly but not quite considerate.
This experiment was executed on a Tuesday, as recently as last week. The annoying and unyielding habit of leaving out an empty PERPETUALLY REMAINING roll was challenged, so the hypothesis tested was whether there were productive results when touching was restricted. I, the normal experiment controls, as a subject of the research, was absent.
By Thursday, whatever spell of logic the three kitchen patrons had been under seemed to lift as they all, for some reason, burnt through all of their paper towels while finally acknowledging the stubs of what was once a roll. Lo and behold! There it was! A paper towel roll! Everything was right in the world. By Friday, someone had balanced a new roll on top of the cardboard tube. It was really not much of a step up at all.
By Saturday, the amount of neglect from both individuals and the system had become more than I could bear. There is no need for theatrics and exaggeration. Save your melodrama because I’ve succinctly reached my point.
This notion sets us apart from raccoons—and in stark contrast to them completely removing the empty spindle if they had access to thumbs or paper. They have no concept of hygiene and no way to support socially accepted practices to keep around those who can. Maybe you were…accidentally raised in a home that skipped the basics of replacing the roll.
For those in need of assistance allowing me to make myself very clear: 1. Recognizing it is devoid will be the first step. Also, look for the empty roll. 2. Removing the cylinder that used to hold the roll. 3. Looking for the roll capable of being full resting next to the empty one is the last and final step.
4. Ensure that your object could offer some usefulness before mounting it to the holder. (Note: These instructions could also lead to a different type of household inflicted dilemma involving the person responsible for having you follow step 4.)
I’m considering the implementation of a blame naming policy.
A spice shrouded camera would snap the last user’s picture and display it beside the last roll. Though, those likely to do it again wouldn’t care about the shame and or the name attached to the act.
So which side am I on? The side of lighthearted fun or the public chastising of all except rapists, trolls and swindlers? What troubles me most isn’t the discomfort—rather, it is the implications.
That paper towel tube isn’t merely used paper, but a reflection of a society so self-sufficient that it can even outsource clean up in the loo. It embodies “not my problem” which, when put on a larger scale, allows everything from uncleared restaurant tables to the college admission scandal to slide by without consequences. I appreciate we are not at a one-for-one parallel of toilet paper and climate change.
But what could ever compare? If there’s every an item from the bathroom that needs to connect to doomsday, we could approach it in a much more life-affirming and sustainable manner. Finally, every time I dare to ask that you consider what you do when you wipe—when you use toilet paper, tissues, or paper towels.
Respect the bare tube and acknowledge it when you’re done looking at it. Intentionally and gravely witness the void and accept full responsibility of filling the vacuum. Conceiving cos of course restock the bathroom, kitchen and laundry cupboard, but refilling in what replaces civilization.
Either take no action or leave it untouched. The survival of every frustrated being who I copy in has no meaning as long as they loom perpetually over your neglected family tree, caked with cold coffee and begging to understand where you went off the rails. With patience as thin as paper,
Horace Grimley
P.S.
Yes, those who wipe the toilet seats have also been given the same attention, albeit with slight deviations here and there. That’s right, the filthy scum that I picture rolling down the hill to an even worse part of Dante’s hell—lower, lower, deeper, and deeper.
