The straw that broke the camel's back was a 30 cent roll of toilet paper (TP). The fact that a math dunce like me took the time to calculate the price of one roll of TP already shows how petty things have gotten! But I digress. Let me set the tiled, porcelain stage for this petty little interlude.
In a small flat shared by four girls, there are bound to be some things that grate on not only the most obsessive compulsive, but also the most mellowly tolerant: Toothpaste splotches left on the vanity, soaking wet floors caused by aggressive clothes-washing, stacks of dirty dishes piled by the sink, refrigerator space hogging, loud phone conversations, spilled fish soup in the microwave. But these are relatively infrequent, easily tolerated incidents. A mildly obsessive-compulsive control freak like me has borne all these occurrences with a deep breath (except when fish soup was involved), and an internal "Ohm" chant, "Ohm" being short for "Ohm...mygod. Bloody effin hell. I need to spork something. Ohm...mygod."
But even the Ohm chant didn't help when I ambled into our bathroom one morning to pay witness to a formerly full roll of TP replaced by a lonely little cardboard tube with a one-ply (of three-ply, mind you), thin length of toilet paper dangling wanly from it. Oh no they di-ent! That raggedy one-ply flag was a firing shot. A slap in the face. In fact, I may have actually said, ala Bugs Bunny, "Of course you realize...this means war."
Let me explain the rather strange toilet paper mechanics of our happy little temporary household. We each buy our own and we each keep a roll in the bathroom. Since I was the first to check into our residence and christen our toilet lo those many months ago, I had staked claim, so to speak, on the toilet paper dispenser by filling it with the inaugural roll. I was happy to share as long as we all contributed, but as my flatmates seemed to be toilet-speak shy, they preferred to buy their own and keep "their" rolls on the tank or on the little ledge behind the toilet. No problem...the system seemed to work. As time passed, however, I began to realize that while there were four occupants of the flat, there were only three rolls of "active" TP in the bathroom. Even this dunce is able to do the math...Methinks there is a free-rider in the midst. While I didn't notice any major acceleration in the depletion of my TP supply, I had an inkling that by rote of being in the most convenient place (the TP dispenser), my roll probably was being used by guests to our flat, and possibly, by other flatmates during emergency situations...I didn't mind, really. I'm not that petty.
But this...this completely flagrant, blatant act of finishing the roll, then affixing a single-ply to the empty cardboard tube in order to make it look like it wasn't depleted, was utterly unbelievable! I decided to leave that roll as is, sad little length of one-ply and all, while my new roll of TP now sits on the ledge behind the toilet.
Petty? Yes. Passive aggressive? Hell yes.
Need further proof? It's been a week since the incident, and that roll with the sad little length of one-ply is still there. And it gets worse: one day, I walked in and saw that the one-ply sheet had fallen on the floor, probably due to a strong breeze from the window. So of course, I picked it up, and affixed it back to the empty tube again. It's become a sort of a game for me.
Petty? Yes. Passive aggressive? Oh hell yes.
Finally, the piece de la resistance...today, I walk in, and the one-ply sheet is gone! Someone actually decided to use it, and then, simply left the empty tube there! Well-played, my friend, well-played. I laughed at that...though am actually a little sad to see the one-ply gone. So now, an empty cardboard tube sits on the TP dispenser, a proud, blatant symbol of pettiness and passive aggressiveness.
Petty? Yes. Passive aggressive? Damn straight.
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