Toilet Paper Roll Playing
Best friends forever!
I wanted to write a bit about the toilet paper situation in our house. There’s a natural order to things, even toilet paper. You might find the topic boring but as your intrepid blogger I’m willing to take a swipe at it.
There’s a three-tier system of toilet paper deployment in our home. I’m not talking about “ply.” That, of course, is something that varies wildly over the course of time and cannot be predicted. If you’re not careful some rolls blow away like dandelions in the wind. These are known in the industry as 1-ply, micro-ply or nano-ply. Others are decidedly thicker and look like what you might expect if you dissected the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Common varietals include 2-ply, 4-ply, 8-ply, 16-ply, 32 ply and 64-Mbps-ply (if available in your area).
Which tier of the system is for you? It depends on your level of desperation.
In no particular order we begin our journey with an exploration of the Top Shelf Tier. This toilet paper is located at the very top of a cabinet in the bathroom. Despite the lofty name this location has been carefully determined based on being totally inaccessible to the standard occupant in a sitting position. You can reach up and strain your arm but it ain’t gonna happen. This stash is basically emergency use only. It’s the bathroom equivalent of breaking the glass in case of fire. If push comes to shove you’ll have to stand up to get it.
Next we find the Everyday Tier. This is one or more rolls scattered about the room in very accessible positions. This may be the edge of the sink, balanced on the towel rack, or even on the floor. The point is, like an old friend, it’s there when you need it. This is your low-hanging fruit and bestest buddy in the toilet paper realm. But it’s also a dying breed. Your wife will terminate it on sight. That makes Everday Tier a precious commodity and a trusted friend.
Last, but certainly not least, is the Official Tier. This stuff is so highfalutin that it even has it’s own rack. And it’s mounted right on the wall! La-dee-dah! The placement of this rack, however, leaves something to be desired and is, perhaps, the most visible indication yet that this house was designed by Dr. Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four. I know that’s a stretch but evidence suggests his superpowers are required to reach the damn thing. Putting the toilet paper right behind the toilet? Utter brilliance. That ranks right up there with a floor plan design that reveals a direct line-of-sight to the urinals when the restroom door is opened at the pub. Clever!
The point I’m trying to make is that I hate the Official Tier and avoid it unless absolutely necessary. I keep banning it from this realm of existence but it, somehow, always returns.
One time I had a girlfriend move in with me. I kept the master bath for myself and she took ownership of the other bathroom. It was the bathroom adjacent to the living room by the front door. It was informally known as our “public” restroom. The only rule? That it be kept well-stocked with plenty of toilet paper for visiting dignitaries and out-of-town guests.
Then, one day, my best friend went to use the facilities and ended up taking a shower. What the hell? I grilled him when he exited and he claimed he had no choice. There was no toilet paper! No sheet! See? If she had used the three-tiered system that never would have happened.
Avoid pain and humiliation for you and your friends. Get on the three-tiered system today.
Talocruralpantaloonlocophobia
They called her Clean-Fingers McGee. She never missed. They said you could bet your life on her fingers being clean. Come to think of it, if you ever shook hands with her, that’s pretty much what you were doing.
Although not generally known, McGee had a secret. When using public restrooms, she would pull up her pants before exiting the stall and making her way across the tile of questionable cleanliness to the sinks to wash her hands.
You see, McGee was deathly afraid of shuffling across public restrooms with pants around her ankles. This condition, which is more common than most people think, is known as talocruralpantaloonlocophobia.
Curious, we decided to conduct a study.
One thing we know for sure: When it comes to restroom habits the concept of sequencing is of vital importance. Fact: Persons exiting restroom stalls with their pants up and belts secured are doing it wrong.
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Time to T.P. the Blog #poop
Yes, there’s a crapp for that. Siri says, “Very good! Just one more push and you break the record.” #TMI
My blog may be an expert authority on poop but I do try to keep it classy, ya know?
Blogger Tip: A forgotten point in yesterday’s post becomes the launch point for a new post today. FTW!
So yeah, yesterday I left out a key point that probably changed the flavor of the whole thing. Well, maybe not flavor, but you know what I mean. I’m going to literally pick things up right where we left off.
And that’s the point of today’s article. I’m going to take you on a firsthand tour of the complicated world of small office politics, protocols, mores, values and norms. Just think of me as your very own amateur poop sociologist.
As you might imagine, in a small office little grotesqueries can become big problems if left untreated. That’s why they need to go to the treatment plant. It’s natural for humans to come up with way to cope in the face of unimaginable horrors.
Most of us have the sense to know not to do certain things. We instinctively feel with our gut, much like Captain Kirk, when something is bad form. But then again, some of us don’t. This post is directed at them.
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Proximo has got to go
Wow. I can see my office from here.
Imagine, if you will, a workplace that is roughly the size of a shipping container.
Oh yes, oh yes. Another good time work post is upon us now.
I previously reported on my discovery, the 666 equilateral triangle. It’s a place where dreams go to die. In short, it works like this. I sit six feet away from cow orker. Cow orker sits six feet away from the boss. The boss sits six feet away from me.
Technicolor? Bah! Imagine Fart-O-Vision where you get to experience the subtle nuance of every biological function of your neighbor. Good times, indeed!
It’s enough to make one go barking mad, but I, of course, resist that with all my might. That’s why I’m still completely sane.
So, in honor of Friday, the most deceitful day of the week, I merely have a quick question to ask.
In this post I’m going to refer to my boss as Proximo, mainly because, as he interfaces with my existence, he is so proximous.
The first part of the agony is a function of time. I spend more time at work than doing anything else in my life. (Source: This nifty little graph.)
That only communicates part of the story, though. The other half of the misery equation is one of proximity.
I’ve thought about this and realized that my current situation is truly unique. At some jobs the boss didn’t even work in the building. It would be a big deal when the boss stopped by (almost always by “surprise!”). All the employees were like, “Oh shit. The boss.” It changed the feel of the environment. My last asshole boss lived a mile away from the office, worked from home, but liked to jaunt over unexpectedly quite often, even though he didn’t like being there very much. I guess the necessary evil of fucking with the employees outweighed his distaste for being in the shithole. He’d usually flee as fast as possible after he had made his point.
At one place where I worked for 16 years and over 1,000 employees, the CEO liked to stroll around as part of tactic to be seen as accessible to employees and interested in every part of the operation. I knew the guy because we’d been on some committees together and had worked on a few projects. He’d stroll by and say, “Hi, Tom.” I knew I wasn’t about to get fired but it still somehow felt like it. The CEO walking by and saying your name wasn’t something that happened all the time.
Or the boss worked out of sight in an office around the corner or across the floor. The boss would occasionally stop by from time to time but certainly wouldn’t stay there all day long, day after day, every single day of your life.
I literally spend 40 hours a week six feet away from the boss. He seldom, if ever, leaves that space. It’s his clubhouse, his sanctuary, his home away from home. It is where he goes to escape his wife. It is the one part of his existence where he is the boss. His word is law. (Unlike his home life.) So he just loves and adores being there.
His wife will call him and try to make plans. It’s pathetic to listen to him tell her how busy he is (he’s not) and how he has to work late. He loves to work on Saturdays, too, and bitches when a holiday comes along and forces him to spend more time with his family.
Me? All I think about is escaping that fucked up place and spending every other precious moment of my life with my wife. Another thing I realized lately was that I would never trade places with my boss. (Is that like a positive thought?)
Our workstations are L-shaped so that I can’t see him unless I turn around (thank God) but he can view me and my computer screen without me being aware. My computer is in his line of sight. I know that arrangement is no coincidence. Six feet from my office chair is his office chair.
A great decorating idea for the office restroom.
Here’s a nice little bonus. When he gets up off his ass and goes to the restroom and sits on the toilet, he’s still exactly six feet away. You see, my workstation shares a wall (decidedly not a soundproofed one) with the office bathroom. But I think I’ve already expounded about that enough in the past. (For the curious, research my posting history if you want to know more about what the boss in the restroom is like. Bring a strong stomach.)
So yeah, I’m within six feet of the boss for just about 40 hours a week, every week. It’s like clockwork. I don’t even get a break from him when he goes to the bathroom. And I realized that sort of boss proximity is completely unprecedented in my experience. Does anyone out there have anything even remotely like this?
Shouts from the Abyss 
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