You can tell if a company values its customers by the quality of its toilet paper. That rough stuff you have to fold 16 times before grating across your rump like twisted metal on a block of 30-year old parmesan speaks as much about the company’s disregard for your custom as it does for their undeclared war on your bottom.
Good customer service trickles from the shiny sales people and free coffee right down to the bathroom floor, suspicious puddles and all. And, while many will be tempted to cut costs by downgrading or neglecting to replenish such minutiae as toilet paper in these troubled times, my hope is that the following exposé on loo roll horrors will deter you, lest we all have to carry a monstrous arse rash in addition to our other varied troubles.
Oh, and yes – there is some advice at the end of all this nonsense, in case you thought I’d misplaced the brighter half of my antique spoon collection.
So called because it doubles as an emergency kit should a tradesperson misplace a tool of their craft; a belt sander or electric buzz saw, for example.
Pubs normally use this to encourage you to hold it in until you get home. Sadly, the tactic’s becoming more popular at other venues too.
Closely related to The Builder’s Friend, The Carpenter is a slightly refined version that’s perfect for smoothing paint between coats. You’ll find it in public libraries to discourage people from reading on the loo.
The king of false economies, economy paper is based on the idiotic notion that dispensing sheets in ultra-thin single ply units will use less material overall. Instead, the companies who use this thrice-cursed roll have outsourced the labour of toilet paper manufacture to their customers by providing you with the raw materials to make your own.
Faced with the sad notion of having to assemble your own bog roll, you’ll happily take three more sheets than you need just to spite the cheap bastards, which only serves to augment their exercise in futility.
There isn’t even a holder there, let alone any loo roll. As you frantically wave your arms around hoping for a solution to appear by the same witchcraft that powers those new fangled flushers, you’ll realize that this company couldn’t give two shits about you. Which is lucky, because you’re in enough of a quandry as it is.
The previous occupant was the type who leaves the final biscuit in the packet because they think it makes scoffing the previous 19 perfectly acceptable. As such, there’s just enough paper on the roll for you to carry out your business, but not enough to make any mistakes.
This reeks of bad washroom management. If the company can’t cope with basic hygiene, I dread to think what else was in that burger you just ate.
Ah, The Quilted! Possibly the only thing on Earth that makes it worthwhile eating bran flakes. Pure bliss on a roll, and the choice of bears everywhere. This belongs in a separate list away from the horrors, but I include it here for balance. And because I don’t intend to write about toilet paper ever again.
You can see a huge roll of blue paper in a fat perspex box, but you’ll be a llama farmer before you can get at it. You’ve tried everything you can think of but it’s practically caged in. Just when you were about to give up and use your left hand, the infernal contraption snaps open and drops the entire 50 metre roll into a puddle on the floor.
To business owners worldwide: if you must buy oversized rolls in bulk to cut costs and reduce maintenance, at least make sure the giant dispensers they require were designed to serve loo roll, and not to prevent lizards from escaping at high security zoos.
It may surprise you to learn that the toilet paper in British private schools is atrocious. This, of course, is by design: nothing quite prepares young minds for the harsh realities of adult life like attempting to mop your bott with tree bark nailed to paper. I’ve only ever seen this stuff in one other establishment, which went out of business last year. Enough said.
The message in this madness
The moral is a simple one: think twice before you cut the small stuff.
Think you can drop your advertising budget to save some cash? Think again. You might not notice it after the first month’s sales, but it will hit you around month three. I know this first hand.
Think you can stop innovating and just coast along with your existing products and services? Maybe. But don’t expect to be able to hold your position in the next downturn. Apple increased their spending on research and development in the previous recession. The outcome? The iPod.
Think you can swap your luxury loo roll for a strip of Builder’s Friend? For the love of bottoms everywhere, think again. A friend confessed to me that she never goes back to a local restaurant because “the loo roll they use is naaaasty”. I asked her what the food was like: “oh, it was great — I’d go every week if they did takeaway”. Lesson learned: when it comes to repeat business, bums trump tums every time. Insert your own joke about bottom lines here.
So what do you cut out?
Cut stuff that your customers won’t notice first. Then - and only then - cut the rest. Every business will be different, but there’s no doubt about it: if it matters to you, you’ll find ways to save money without your customers noticing. But, whatever you cut, guard the posh loo roll with your life.
