Toilet Paper by Colin Blakeslee

I realized something strange the other day - I am beginning to appreciate the human race. 

Hi. I’m toilet paper. Nice to meet you!

You know, I never thought I’d actually get to meet a human. I learned from a tender age, before my paper was even dry, what happened as I got older. Now that I think about it, I was probably a 3 or 4 squares too young to know.

“You’re packed into a bag!” My uncle would shout, his eyes going wide as though a dog had charged in and begun drinking from the toilet. “You’re thrown onto a shelf and the monsters come pay for you. They pay, for newspaper’s sake! It’s disgusting!”

“Alright.” My mother would say. “Run along now. It’s bedtime.”

But I never would. I would sit out of view, and listen as my uncle, mother, and father talked about what was happening in the world of TP. 

“They’re making us 30% MORE Absorbent.” My uncle would cry. “I don’t know what to do!”

Later, on the day I turned 16, I learned he had been packaged and bought before I was made. He tried jumping out a window to escape, and he succeeded. He lost about half his roll that day. As a child, I wasn’t even conscious that I could feel the cardboard insert through his paper when he hugged me, but now that I’m older, it’s clear as day. 

Ahh, the innocence of childhood. But that all ended soon. I was packed a few months after that birthday, and shipped off to a Costco. Life there was… strange. We all sat in our big plastic container, high above the store. And as time went on, we were lowered closer and closer to the ground. 

We would watch in horror as mothers and fathers on their errands would thoughtlessly swipe our kind into their carts. The screams were only covered up by the human 90’s boy band music emanating from the speakers and the sounds of sample-bearing workers hawking their wares. Eventually, we reached shelf level, and on March 12, 2020, we were bought. 

It was terrifying. Dozens of our packages were shoved in the cart. We were entombed with granola bars, jugs of Dawn soap and printer paper. We waited in agony as the buyer stopped for a Costco hotdog, and then as we trawled down the conveyor belt, we became resigned to our fate. 

The sun blinded us as we were rolled to a car, and we finally calmed down enough to get a good look at our brethren. 

There were dozens of packages in that trunk, with hundreds of rolls in total. A chatter began to rise over the noisy car. 

“There are so many rolls!” One exclaimed. “What is to become of us!?”

“We’re going to a shredder.” Another says sadly. “There’s too much supply.”

“No way!” Another one replied. “We got bought. Who knows where we’re going!” 

The car slowed to a stop and we were packed into the back of a closet. There’s a noise that we can only dimly hear, and it’s running about half the day. The humans call it “The news”, but I don’t understand why. There’s nothing “new” about it – all they ever do is talk about the Coronavirus. 

One day, we heard some “news” talking about us, toilet paper! We all quieted down to hear the rest. 

“…leading to a massive demand for toilet paper. Hoarding has become a very real problem, as everyday shoppers are struggling to find toilet paper at many stores during this difficult and confusing time.”

The humans only open the closet about every few days, and one of the older rolls says that we’re in “storage.” The days have turned into weeks, and a few days ago, I realized something strange. 

I am surrounded by my kind. I’ve met more of them than ever before! “Storage” is comfortable, and life is good. 

Against all odds, I am beginning to appreciate the human race. Maybe those “monsters” aren’t so bad at all. 

Or perhaps Uncle was right all along. 

Only time will tell.