These past weeks I have found myself in an emotional crisis. My grades have been slipping and, though I am generally not the political type, I am growing increasingly worried about the upcoming election, seeing no viable candidate to get behind. I would like to believe these troubles are the result of a poor work ethic and the realization that our political climate is in such a quagmire that no one man or woman can cure our nation’s ills, but I know the true origin of my woeful state: for countless weeks now, Southside has been out of toilet paper.
This conclusion may seem a tad melodramatic, and I would agree with that accusation if this drought lasted a mere week, but this perpetual lack of my dear Scott is veering into “Lord of the Flies” territory. Besides the age limit, there are reasons I opted to go to college instead of a stint on “Kid Nation,” and toilet paper is one of them. Furthermore, considering Southside’s distance, I do not have the luxury of running to a public restroom on campus, as the nearest option happens to be a Port-a-Potty by the soccer fields that, on particularly windy days, would require going about one’s business sideways. With no proper recourse, this deprivation has consumed my mind so fiercely that I fear I shall never be able to turn back. My friends tell me that I talk about toilet paper more than anyone they know, and that is all too true. Joni Mitchell was right. You just don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.
Recently, a friend came all the way from George Washington University to stay the weekend at my Southside Maisonette. I wish I could say that this offer came from the goodness of my heart, but it was chock full of ulterior motive: I finally had someone to bring in toilet paper from the outside. I achieved great things over that weekend. I was charming, sprightly and able to churn out a 15-page research paper in record time, something I could never have accomplished without the aid of some friendly two-ply. Alas, that weekend is over and that roll has been all used up. Once again, I am reduced to a bitter shell of a man.
I realize that this is only a trifling issue, only mattering to a small section of the student body, and certainly no presidential candidate will weigh in on the matter. Even if any of them would, I don’t think I could hold out until the next election. Nay, I must speak out, but I do not have the answers. I know not why we have been subjected to this shafting. And I do know there is an easy solution, but that would require money. In the college student’s hierarchy of needs, money is the only commodity more precious than toilet paper, so buying it is out. Napkins and paper towels are a doable option, but let me tell you: they’re not fun.
Luckily, Halloween is approaching, which of course means senseless teenage vandalism all across local neighborhoods. If this drought continues, I just may have to offer my services to clean up these TP-ridden towns. That is, unless the Southside courtyard becomes a vandalism hot-spot this year. If such is the case, I give full permission to TP (unused, please) my fair maisonette on All Hallow’s Eve. I’d tell you that it’s the only one completely covered in ivy, but I may have used up those leaves by then.
Marquis is a member of the class of 2009.
