Behavioral Studies

About two weeks ago I was over at my friend Casey's when some girls knocked on the door and asked for toilet paper. Now, this seems a bit strange, I know. But just think...if someone knocked on your door and asked for some TP, what would you do? I would definitely give them a roll and not ask any questions.

Casey's situation is more acceptable because she's the RD of some apartments for a local university. Apparently part of her job is making sure her residents have toilet paper, which really extends above and beyond expectations, if you ask me. I asked her about it, and a truck delivers toilet paper to her town house about every two weeks, then she stores it for all those in need. I was intrigued by this situation, but then I just came to conclude that it must be the university's way of making sure Casey's residents make face to face contact with her at least once a month. Though Casey is so much fun that if I were her resident, I'd want to see her at least once a week anyway (which, luckily for me, I do).

All of this toilet-paper-provided-in-college-business started to make me think of the year I lived in the on-campus apartments of my alma mater. The apartment had 4 bedrooms, a small living room, a kitchen, and two bathrooms. I shared the apartment with 3 utter strangers, but one of them ended up becoming a very good friend (love you Kaitlynn!). Kaitlynn and another girl shared one bathroom, and I shared the bathroom nearest to my room with a girl named Crazy*.

The good thing about living in the on-campus apartments was that someone came in to clean your bathrooms once a week. It's not even like we had to be responsible. And though our bathrooms were cleaned by the magic fairy every Friday at ten a.m., no toilet paper was provided. You had to buy that on your own. Which hey, I get, everybody has their preferences.

Kaitlynn and the person who shared her bathroom took turns buying toilet paper, and Crazy and I took turns buying toilet paper. Or so I thought. I finally realized about four months into it that I had been the only one who was purchasing the packages of Charmin.

Now, what I am about to tell you I am not exactly proud of, and I have grown up since then, but let me just tell you that Kaitlynn and I had a passive-aggressive relationship with Crazy that she reciprocated (or started, rather). Like, for example, somebody cleaned out my entire tub of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream but then put the empty container back in the freezer. I did not write a passive-aggressive note, but instead counted my losses. But as soon as Crazy suspected someone had eaten her cheese, she put a sticky note on it in the fridge that said something like "Eat your own cheese. This is mine and it's expensive." Don't go looking at me, because I am a straight up Tillamook only girl and I would have never even tried her Velveeta or Kraft or whatever molecularly designed plastic cheese she had.

All this to say the passive-aggressiveness extended into the bathroom. Now, I may have been too pathetic to say "Hey Crazy, your turn to buy toilet paper," or I may have just wanted to do some behavioral observations, because when the last roll of TP was gone, I didn't buy more. I figured after 24 hours she'd take the hint and realize she needed to go buy some. But she didn't. What I did was I bought toilet paper and I kept it in my room (which locked), except for the one roll that I kept in my drawer of the bathroom. It was kind of a pain to remember to get it out every time, but I was really curious as to what Crazy would do. This experiment went on for about a week, at the end of which I concluded that either Crazy never wiped her butt, or she never went to the bathroom even though she was definitely living in the apartment. No one ever caught her using Kaitlynn's bathroom, though she may have in the dead of night when we were all asleep.

This would have been helpful.

After a week of this nonsense, one has to think "what the hell is this girl thinking?" Obviously there is no toilet paper. Obviously you have never bought any. So maybe you should just buy some already. I didn't say anything though, about the situation, and she didn't say anything either. This continued for about two more weeks. One day I was in my room (which was straight across from the bathroom) when I heard a sound that revealed Crazy's resourcefulness. I heard a certain drawer squeak open and the toilet flush. She was a toilet paper thief now! So of course, what does one level-headed mature college student do but remove the toilet paper from the bathroom completely and store it safely in a locked room?

Using the bathroom after this took about five extra seconds of planning, because I would have to remember to take the toilet paper roll with me. Then I would return it safely to my room, away from the butt cheeks of a non-contributing passive-aggressive note writing thief.

I thought to myself, what would she do now? It was mostly a game by this point-- mostly a scientific experiment in human behavior. Toilet paper never did show up, which just makes us all think "what the hell?" I remember the time Crazy had a friend over though. I was in the living room watching TV or doing homework or something, and the friend asks Crazy if she can use the bathroom. So what Crazy does is say "yeah, you can use that one," and points to the bathroom that we share. "But we're out of toilet paper, so hang on." I watch out of the corner of my eye as Crazy goes down the hall to Kaitlynn's bathroom and spins off some toilet paper, which she then hands to her friend.

Really? Really? But you know what's even worse? We went on like that for the rest of the year. I kept my roll of toilet paper in my locked bedroom, and she did god knows what. Perhaps she collected leaves from the bushes outside the main entrance, or she wiped with the wrappers that her individually sliced plastic cheese came in. But I'll have you know, when I got my new roommate this fall, I fully told her "you need to buy your own toilet paper."

*not her real name.