What do you do when you come home from a trip to find out your roommate failed to supply the all-important toilet paper?
At my last apartment, I had an interesting relationship with my roommate. We’re still good friends, but we had different approaches to “adulting.” I’m a bit of a slob when it comes to cleaning, so every few months he’d take an Adderall and deep-clean the place.
Meanwhile, he wasn’t good at the day-to-day things, so I was the person loading the dishwasher and taking out the trash. For the two years we lived together, this typically was a healthy symbiotic relationship.
That is, except for the one instance that led to “the brick night.”
I had gone home for the holidays, while he stayed at home. When I left, we had a healthy supply of toilet paper. Now, I typically am a fan of having at least one emergency roll on hand. When I left, we had at least four.
So when I came home after a few days away, I felt it was safe to assume that our shared throne was a safe place.
Now, I tend to be a pretty regular morning pooper, but after a weekend of holiday meals, I found myself needing to relieve myself around midnight that evening. As I rushed to the bathroom, my belly rumbling, I was mortified.
There was not a slice of toilet paper to be seen.
I was enraged.
It being a holiday weekend, late at night, there were no stores open that could alleviate the problem.
So I snapped. It remains the one and only time I’ve yelled at my then-roommate. But yell I did.
“DUDE! How do you not buy toilet paper when you’ve run out!? How much toilet paper did you even use? It’s been two days!”
My belly was gurgling, but I was more focused on my frustration with my roommate’s inability to handle a simple chore.
He apologized, but there was nothing either of us could do in the moment. I could have taken care of business and gone “European” with a shower bidet approach, but by now I was more concerned about teaching a lesson and making a point.
So I looked my roommate in the eyes, pointed at him, and said sternly, “When I wake up tomorrow, there better be a 12-pack of toilet paper in our bathroom. But until then…”
I now have to go to bed with this BRICK in my STOMACH
And listen. I’m a man of my word. So I did go to bed with that brick in my stomach.
I might have some impressive/horrific experience with holding in throne visits, but that doesn’t mean the night was a comfortable one. I squirmed. I shifted positions constantly. I was sweating profusely. This was like a hunger protest, and I did not yield.
I don’t recommend a night with a brick in the stomach, however.
When I woke up the next morning, my roommate was contrite. And had gone out to purchase the toilet paper I demanded.
When I unleashed the brick it was…a tad painful. But the relief I felt when I wiped and flushed more than made up for the pain.
And my roommate made sure we never ran out of toilet paper again.