You walk inside the restroom on your floor, eager to take your morning shit after that long-winded 9 a.m. Just when you thought you were alone, you hear a faint whimper coming from one of the stalls. Surprise, surprise — it’s the stall closest to the wall, aka The Official #2 Station. To an outsider, it may be difficult to understand what’s happening inside that stall. It may even be a bit discomforting. But because you are a Brown student, you know exactly what’s going down. The poor soul is undergoing the torture that is wiping oneself with college restroom toilet paper.
Trigger warning: You may want to avert your eyes if you are uncomfortable talking about poop because shit’s about to get real (no pun intended).
I understand that schools always try to be frugal when dealing with “simple” things, and thus resort to buying very commercial products. I’m not about to do the “My family is paying thousands for them to do what?” thing because those arguments are made by a special type of people and we don’t talk about them, but holy hell is Charmin really that much pricier!? I’m not even asking for Ultra Soft, Basic will suffice! Must the school provide us with the most unbearably abrasive toilet paper to ever exist? Knowing what they do, Brunonians should be wary of ordering extra banana peppers in their falafel wraps.
I won’t even get into how easily our school’s toilet paper disintegrates upon contact because that’s a whole different story. Like bro, do you even double ply? My 1st grade tracing paper was thicker than that travesty. Just put it this way: an Americanized tortilla can endure more (yeah, it’s that bad). It’s almost as if the toilet paper on campus wishes to make a mockery of us, to make us apologize for the miracle that is the human body. But, we shall not yield.
We could always just buy our own toilet paper, or opt for the better option, baby wipes. That would mean succumbing to the system, though, and as Brown students, that is simply not an option. I ask you, my fellow compatriots, to stand by me as I rage against the (janitorial?) machine. We need not tolerate these injustices any longer! It is not a laughing matter. It has cascading consequences. Unhappy bottoms equals unhappy students equals unhappy midterm graders. It’s time to send some angry yet eloquent emails to whoever is in charge of purchasing the toilet paper. Heck, if it’s President Paxson herself, so be it. The Strategic Plan could always use some amendments.
So here’s to happy bottoms! Because the sun don’t shine there, but neither should the Eye of Sauron.