Toilet Paper Wars
I'm growing fond of these more frequent strolls down memory lane. Maybe my childhood wasn't so bad after all . . .

My sister and I had a never-ending war over the toilet paper roll in the bathroom we shared. No matter which house in whatever city was our current home, we had a war about the toilet paper.

It was a silent war. A war without words, without beginning or end in sight. I don't know who started it or how it even became a war, because we never spoke of it, or told on each other to our parents. But you can bet neither one of us ever intended to back down and relinquish control of our firm stance on refusing to ever change the empty roll in the holder. It was a major opposition, worth fighting for until one of us controlled the warzone and claimed it in the name of peace.

I developed a hatred for changing out the used-up roll to a new roll. Not because it was a painful or difficult process, but because it meant defeat. I became tired of running into the bathroom, needing to go, only to look over and see a bare, brown toilet paper roll with no paper attached to it, hanging there, taunting me. I would then have to postpone my need to go, and hunt down some toilet paper, all the while fuming that I'd once again been left with an empty roll, void of all useful paper.

My sister was much worse about it than I was, neglecting to change out the roll if she was the last one to use up all the paper on it. She was very free-spirited, not really interested in taking precious time to change out the roll for the next person, when she could be playing or reading or talking to her friends on the phone. She was easily distracted, as well as stubborn. She was known to squash a bug on the carpet and wander off, leaving it there for someone else to discover later. Maintenance issues should be my domain, apparently. In her world, that is.

In my world, however, the last one who uses all of the toilet paper should be the one to get a new roll. And I am very stubborn, too. Done and done.

I began to rebel. I would rig the roll as it neared the end of its life, by using all but the very last particle of that last square clinging to the roll. I would leave barely more than the shredded stuff glued to the cardboard, technically leaving paper on the roll so that it was not officially used up, but not leaving nearly enough for a good use for the next person. My plan was that my sister would be stuck with not enough toilet paper, and she would then be forced to get the new roll. I would then have a new roll for my next visit to the loo. A perfect plan, especially for a kid.

This backfired. I would go in there and still see the blank carboard in the holder, and no new roll. The shreds were gone, yet I couldn't understand how she'd managed the trick of using the loo without sufficient toilet paper. I soon discovered the box of tissues was close enough to the toilet that she could reach it, and she had been substituting tissues for toilet paper. Ooohhhh, she was sneaky.

The next phase of my plan resorted to relocating the tissues, out of arms length from the toilet. I would then discover a brand new roll of toilet paper in the bathroom after my sister had been in there. Hooray! Except for the fact that she left it hovering above the holder, resting on it, but not actually fastened into it. The old used-up bare cardboard roll was still there, to taunt me, with a brand new roll gloating above it. She was playing hardball . . . .

That sort of thing went on for as long as we shared space in a house. Now that I live alone, it's never a problem. I use up the toilet paper, I get another roll. Simple enough. It functions like a well-oiled machine.

Then, I come to work. And here, of all the strange places, I am involved in another toilet paper war. Again, no words are spoken, but we definitely have a battle of wills here over refusal to change out the toilet paper. I don't understand it on a level with adults at a place of business. We don't have a janitor to regularly clean and stock the bathroom, so it's pretty much up to us to make sure we've got the right equipment in there. That alone annoys me thoroughly, but dealing with co-workers who leave that responsibility up to everyone else just about sends me over the edge.

Not to mention, I am the only non-mom, non-married, person below the age of thirty in the building. So by default, I am the most irresponsible person out of all my co-workers. I'm the youngster in a world full of moms, yet I am the one with the issue of replacing the toilet paper if you are the last one to use it. If it weren't for me, toilet paper would rarely make it into the bathroom, or near enough to the toilet to be of good use.

Time after time I go in there and see no toilet paper hanging in the holder, and none in the cabinet. Which means I have to take a detour from my trip to the bathroom, to go the supply closet upstairs and locate more toilet paper or paper towels or whatever else is needed. Let me tell you, I only head to the bathroom when it is the last possible moment that I would safely be able to make it there without disastrous events occuring from waiting too long. Our bathroom is not the nicest place on earth, so I do not relish the thought of going in there. Ever. When I actually get in there, it's because it's time. When I have to take additional time to hunt down toilet paper, well, let's just say the clock is ticking.

It's the same power struggle that went on with my sister, down to the detail of people leaving the new roll hovering above the old roll. Really, if you have the time to get the new roll, you probably have the extra four seconds it takes to put it in the holder. It's like I work with a bunch of children. Old, married, parental children.

Sheesh, I'm going to have to start taking away some privileges around here.

C.T.