Tissue Issue

How does one approach a delicate topic politely? I think I’ll just say it quickly: There are few frustrations more discouraging than the difficulty one often encounters when opening a new roll of toilet tissue. There—I’ve said it.

I know I’m not the only one who believes that this is a problem. It’s just that most people are too polite, or perhaps too shy, to bring it up. But I know it’s a problem because toilet tissue manufacturers have attempted to solve the tissue issue with lavish advertising campaigns promising relief with new and improved products.

These ads and products, I am sad to say, are all evidence of the decline of integrity in American business, because not one of the products is any easier to use than the products they replaced.

Let’s look for a moment at the problem as I see it; I hope and expect that you’ll agree if you give it some thought. There is a sense of urgency in getting that first bit of paper flowing, and lately, the toilet tissue makers seem to have gone overboard in an effort to keep the rolls from unwinding all by themselves. Most of these products are nearly impossible to get started. That first sheet of paper glued in place, or crimped there by some heavy-duty crimper, or even welded or riveted.

But it wasn’t always that way. Once upon a time in America, toilet tissue was one of the simplest and worry-free products found in outhouses and bathroom across the nation. Open a 12-pack, load a roll on the spool and one touch got things rolling along nice and smooth. But something happened.

Let’s research the manufacturers need to keep the rolls intact. It seems that some time ago, on certain October holidays, holding one end of a roll of toilet tissue and then rolling the rest down a street, or wrapping it around a house, or draping it over a statue in the public square was a big thrill.

On the day after Halloween, tons of the stuff had to be cleaned up in cities and towns all across America, and I suspect that someone in a high position in one of these hamlets had a friend in the toilet tissue industry. I imagine that the conversation went something like this:

“Harry, my store gets papered every year and I’m sick of it,” said Mr. Angry Businessman. “How about you doing something to make it harder to get the roll started. Then the worst that could happen is that we’ll have whole rolls to pick up, not miles of paper strewn around like confetti after a parade.”

“Sounds doable to me, Bill,” said the paper maker. “I’ll get my R & D guys on it right away.”

Next thing you know, getting a roll of toilet tissue started is harder than convincing a bill collector that the check is in the mail. But why would the paper people be so willing to make using their product so difficult? Because we use more of it now—we lose about a quarter of a roll just getting that vital first sheet ready to use.

It’s expensive and it’s frustrating, and you don’t want to be thinking about money or be agitated in the bathroom at that point in time.

For years, the paper pushers got their way and their profits, until enough of us complained. That’s when the “Easy-Start” toilet tissue roll was born. But nothing really changed in the product itself—it’s still harder to get started than a teenaged boy on a cold morning.

Oh, they trumpeted the new stuff like it was a new idea instead of what it really was—a simple return to the way things used to be. Just ask anyone over the age of 60. We never had a problem with toilet tissue when we were growing up. The difficulty began when the children raised by my generation found the soft, cheap rolls to be the perfect weapon against defenseless trees, statues and buildings.

These corporate wizards told us how they’d spent a fortune on creating this marvelous product just to make our lives easier, when in reality, the rolls were, if anything, harder to unravel.

One would think that this is a minor thing to complain about. My dear wife said that if having trouble starting a roll of bathroom tissue was the biggest problem I’m facing, life must be very, very good indeed.

Of course, this bothers her as well; she just won’t admit that it aggravates her. In my view, it’s the worst problem of the bathroom. She just brushes off my tissue issues and offers her opinion. According to her, the fact that I leave wet towels on the floor is irksome; my using the bathroom as a “reading room” is selfish and childish; my alleged inability to place all worn clothing in the hamper is “typical male behavior,” and any one of these offences is worse by a factor of ten than my petty paper problem.

Obviously, we are not going to settle this delicate issue in our home any time soon. My dear wife decided that we would drop the subject, but not before she got in one of her favorite “How many men does it take” jokes.

“How many men does it take to put a new roll of toilet paper on the spool?” she asked with a wicked smirk. Not waiting for my reply, she said with great gusto: “No one knows—it’s never been done!”

You know, I’m beginning to envy the simplicity of the life of a cat—a bowl of food, another of water, and a litter box.