Sometimes the value of something becomes next to nothing but the thing is important and useful in life. An example has got to be the toilet role. A toilet roll is so simple, so functional, cheap and of course disposable, used every single day and always performs it's job. So I don't know why it is the simple toilet roll is at times caste aside in favour of the less simple single tissue. Toilets around the world have been flushing quite well without any problem and someone has to come along and invent the stacking tissue dispenser. The reality is this is worse than re inventing the wheel, but worst of all is it's actually taking over from the good old fashioned roll.
The Fish Factory is a building 13 floors high. Not massively tall, yet still taller than a house. Here I work on the sixth floor, at one time I used to work on the seventh floor. The first time I went to work on the seventh floor I got dizzy, in fact I got mildly dizzy for a few months. Looking out of the window just seemed pretty scary. Each day I still have to pop up to the seventh floor but usually only for short periods of time. The toilets are situated between floors, and they are alternate gents and ladies. So for me to hit the loo I have to go to floor six and a half. It's odd but it's true. Sometimes I am so busy at the Fish Factory sitting in my chair slicing and dicing the fishes I barely get a chance to get up and go to the bog. Then I might fit in a visit just before I leave. Unfortunately for me, without fail, the cleaners come along and nearly every day about the time I am leaving there they are cleaning out the loos. This means I have to either walk up the stairs two floors or walk down them. The situation can get desperate. There I am wanting a crap only to find the cleaner has held open the door by putting an orange cone in front of it. Maybe this is a good reason to get annoyed at cleaners, but it is good particularly if it's the time you just need to go. When it's been held in a little too long this is the time when I could put the entire cleaning squad on a hit list. Though sometimes, just sometimes they have got there before me and this becomes less of a worry. Well except for the wet seat because it's been wiped over with some detergent and hasn't quite dried off.
The other day I was in such a situation. The loo had been cleaned and I had found a seat. Content I sat down to do the business. It is almost relaxing except for one thing. The loo roll has been made redundant and instead a tall tissue container is attached to the wall. It dispenses from the bottom. Except when the cleaners have been there, they jam this container so tight trying to pull out a tissue is hardest thing in the world. I want to leave but I can't wipe my bloody arse. I desperately try to use my finger tips to pinch a tissue, but can't because it is like trying to pinch the wall paper off a wall. Desperately pulling at this thing my finger nails are able to get some kind of grip and I tug. The tissue comes away. In normal circumstances this might be good, but in these circumstances all I have achieved in doing is tearing a piece of tissue the size of a bloody postage stamp off. I look at it. Staring in bewilderment and confusion. How the feck am I going to wipe my fat arse with a postage stamp? With fecking great difficulty that's what. I try again. This time I tear off a narrow band of tissue, maybe I could plat my hair with it, maybe it would be used by a centipede, but not for me. Again I try and yet another postage stamp, and then another postage stamp. This goes on for a moment. I look at the bloody thing and am thinking of standing up and kicking the fecking shit out of it except that my trousers would fall round my ankles and my arse still needs a wipe. I give it a thump, which of course does no good. Eventually, my finger get a grip and about a dozen tissues come out. Which is much better. But this dozen tissues are still connected to each other and trying to pull one off has a kind of accordion effect where the others feel their brother is missing and must come along as well.
So it is about half past five in the afternoon, I learn how undervalued and wonderful the simple toilet roll is. God save the toilet roll, long live the toilet roll, god save the roll.
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