I was staring intently at something from the comfort of my perch, something we all take for granted. A roll of toilet paper, an alien object in an otherwise spotless bathroom. You see, when I arrived to teach on a Summer School this year, there was….no toilet paper. I had to go and get some. Nine rolls. I know. That’s a lot for a week, but it worked out cheaper.
In the end, without wishing to go into detail, I didn’t need much of it. Eight rolls eventually came back to London in the boot of my car. The roll I had started to use sat dutifully in its little holder.
The terms of the accommodation contract state that we have to clear the rooms completely. This, I think, might include any unused toilet paper remaining (used toilet paper left behind is a weapon I am saving up for when things get nasty).
So I had a dilemma. Whoever arrives here next might want that toilet paper. I am helping her or him. Can I, or should I, be penalised for that? Toilet paper doesn’t go off like old food in the fridge might, at least not in the time (is money) scale we are dealing with here. Was my duty to the well being of the people or to the system that claimed to promote that well being through automated efficiency.
The roll stayed in the bathroom, and so far I have heard nothing. I suspect the Landlords are in talks with their legal team. If that is so, Huge Student Accommodation Company, come and get me! I shall chain myself to the cisterns, throw paint over your corporate posters in defence of my right to compassionate donation of sanitary accessories. Don’t underestimate me, I shall die in my boots for this cause (it’s not scented, but it is quilted. It’s not to be sneezed at).
Brother Face 