Let me preface this by saying: I understand I’m not always good with other people. Especially stupid other people.
I know this. I am, after all, one of the founding leaders of The People Haters Club (we have party hats). But in recent years I’ve become a lot more tolerant of people in general (stop laughing). There are even specific people (my moms and three others) that I like.
But I still reserve a place in the darkest, scariest parts of my heart for stupid people. People like my flatmates.
They are making me crazy. Fine. Crazier.
Although there are many stories I could tell (and by stories I mean “shit I could complain about”) I would like to start at the most basic, the simplest thing that is making me want to burn the house down.
When I lived on my own (oh the days… how I miss those days… just me and the mold… and Frank my wee mousie… how I miss my old flatmates Frank and Mold… they were great…
That was the longest, most pointless aside ever mostly-contained in a set of over-strained parenthesis. Let me start The Chronicles again.
When I lived in my shoebox with Mold and Frank, it was easy to keep track of how quickly I went through the basics. After all, Mold only used up… I don’t actually know what mold needs to stay alive. I did use a lot of bleach trying to get rid of Mold, but that’s not really the same. And Frank was good about only trying to eat what I dropped until I blocked up his passageway.
This is still an aside. Damn.
Point is, when I was living on my own, I didn’t use up so much fucking toilet paper.
Yah, toilet paper. There is a serious toilet paper mystery in this house – we go through a frightening amount of it. It isn’t natural.
When I lived on my own, I went through about four rolls a month. Approximately. I wasn’t really counting… I’m doing some fairly solid guesswork. Now, there are four of us living in this flat, but we can go through four rolls in two days. Something about this is not right.
Now, I know some of it is going towards “natural uses”, as someone today obviously pooped (they very kindly left proof of their work in the toilet – a story for another Chronicle) and I would hope used some TP to clean up. But unless they are shitting themselves inside out on a daily basis, this does not account for the amount of missing toilet paper.
I suspect one or more of them may be selling it on the street for crack. I have no other explanation for how the hell so much of it goes so quickly. I just don’t know. Last Sunday I bought a total of 18 rolls of toilet paper. We are down to 6 already. SIX! In less than a week! What the freakshow, yo?
It makes me insane. Partially because once we run out, the other people living in Aurghville are too evil/lazy/vindictive/stupid to go and buy more. Surely it can’t be the price, as all anyone here ever picks up (myself included now that I realise how quickly they are snorting it) is the sand-paper grade shite from the pound shop which costs a pound for six rolls.
They can’t be bothered to buy it. They can’t be bothered to change the roll when they use the last of it. I learned today (the first time it happened I thought it may just be an oversight – nope, now it’s happened twice) that they can’t be bothered to give the inside of the toilet a wipe with the brush after laying an (apparently) sticky steamer.
In my new version of hell: this flat’s toilet is how I picture the toilet in hell to be.
I’m ranting. This isn’t a Chronicle – it’s a rant. But only because I’m angry. Angry and sad. Sad that I’m going to have to start buying my own stash of TP and storing it in my bedroom. I’m not contributing to their sick habits anymore. I moved in on March 8. I’ve purchased 34 rolls of toilet paper. If I was on my own, that would last me 8.5 months. I haven’t even lived here for three months yet.
I may never solve the Great Toilet Paper Mystery of Aurghville, but I can stop supporting it. And if I’m not sharing it, I’m going to go out and buy the most expensive toilet paper I can find. Maybe something made out of kittens.
Just remember to ask me for the “good stuff” if you are ever over visiting. You’ll have to, because all you’ll find in the Aurghville Toilet o’ Evil and Wrongness is the last scrapes of tissuey hope clinging to a bygone era of abundance and decadence in the form of a cardboard tube: an era when people replaced the empty loo roll.