The TP Nazi Rises Again

The TP Nazi topic has come up here before.  Yes, I am the TP Nazi in this house…. and any other house where I am staying long enough for more than one sit down.  But for today, I shall leave alone the topic of which way the paper rolls off the roll.

Today’s topic: empty cardboard rolls and the uncaring, or possibly unaware, people who leave them in their wake.  GAH!  I am pretty sure that I am the only one in our family of SIX who places the new roles on the dispenser in our downstairs Elvis bathroom.  What I am not sure about is how it is always perfectly the right amount of TP for the last person…. makes me wonder…. did they plan it? Did they skimp?  Probably none of my business, I know.

Even in our master bedroom bath, my sweet husband does get a new roll of TP out of the cupboard, but leaves it on the floor right under where it should be placed on the roller.  It’s OKAY!  I’m here.  I got it!  Please don’t go through any extra effort while you’re in there.  Relax. I got your back.  From my childhood, I remember my father calling this the “height of laziness.”  Wise man.

Yesterday, however, I was shopping at a mom and pop used bookstore for about two hours and I needed to visit their facilities. Low an behold… the cardboard roll was waiting for me, making me feel at home in this home away from home.  After digging through their supply closet, I restocked the dispenser and went on my happy way, knowing that I just made life easier for another person and had done my job that I’m called to do here on earth.

Seriously, if I didn’t spend my time as the TP Nazi, there would be empty rolls all over the Valley of the Sun!  If you go into a bathroom in Phoenix and the roll is new and coming over the top, know that I was there before you and thought of you.  :o)  You’re welcome, people.

Extreme Camp Host… Chuck

Yesterday I blogged about the glorious side of our camping experience in Northern Arizona…. well, I purposely left out the Chuck information because I knew his story would require an entire blog entry.  I’m kicking myself that we did not think to gather photo evidence of Chuck’s shenanigans for this unbiased report.

How many campers can you count??

Chuck’s Info: Married; in the vicinity of 70 years old; Army-shaved-regulation hair cut; blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses; no smile; stern; fit; slight build; wears various National Camping Association issued tan shirts, shorts and hats which he changes intermittently throughout the day; Camp Host at Wet Beaver Creek; lives in a motor home; watches Who Wants to Be a Millionaire every day; drives a white golf cart counter-clockwise around the campground with various cleaning supplies standing neatly in the back; keeps an impeccably clean campground; is DILIGENT at enforcing the rules of the National Camping Association….. Extremely Diligent!

We were not in the 13-site campground more than three minutes when we encountered Chuck and already had one infraction against us.  We talked to another camper.  That is not acceptable, as we found out.  (???)  We did arrive under unusual circumstances…. one wife, one husband, both married to other people who would be arriving later, two boys and a 35-year-old male friend….. with a truck and trailer full of enough camping paraphernalia to survive at least 27 days without human contact.  We were in the midst of choosing two campsites when Chuck descended on us… seems we inadvertently drove past his site without stopping to introduce ourselves.  We mentioned, mistakenly, that the kind camper lady across the road had informed us that she was leaving by 4:00 and we could have her adjacent campsite.  Heaven forbid!  That was a BIG no-no.  No talking to other campers!  Might cause a revolt????

We were then told that we could not occupy two sites without two vehicles…. what? Then the story changed…. was he trying to intimidate us??? Chuck informed us that we needed to indeed have all of our camping gear for both sites in our possession in order to claim and pay for two sites.  We explained that we did… minus the second vehicle.  (See the HUGE trailer FULL of camping gear?)  We were then read rule number 353.7 from the Nat’l Camping Association handbook page 27 that there were only to be eight people maximum at each campsite and there were no exceptions.  We kindly explained that we would have five unique individuals at campsite #11 and seven unique individuals at campsite #10.  He assumed we were trying to pull one over on him.  We look so devious!  Good grief!  How did he treat hippy looking, pot-smoking, tattooed, keg toting, loud music blaring reprobates?

Throughout our three days under Chuck’s care, we observed that we could set our clocks by his daily habits… 5 am bathroom hose-down…7 am routine walking tour inspection…9 am routine riding in the golf cart inspection and refilling of toilet paper… (all of this leading up to the all important….) 1 pm MANDATORY check-out time for overnighters.  This was quickly followed by a walking inspection of each vacated site and the necessary raking and emptying of ash from the fire pit.  It was all so predictable, yet comical.  He routinely stopped and counted people in each site, reported high winds and no-fire warnings, and was fastidiously aware of every move made in Wet Beaver Creek… especially if non-paying day users accidentally wandered through the campground to access the creek.  Oh boy!  That was a no-no. (page 35 in the NCA handbook)

Each of us adults made it a point to make contact with Chuck for the purpose of gathering information for this report.  We conspired to have him divulge nazi involvement or at least a military career.  Nope, seems he owned gas stations, has a pace maker, wife had a heart attack two years ago but is OK now, lives in Mesa, has been camp hosting for seven years all over the nation, was retired for ten years before camp hosting and is at Wet Beaver Creek for three more months. If you go, you can’t miss him…. or more like it, he won’t miss seeing you!

We decided that wherever Chuck is hosting we will stay.  It will be a clean and orderly campground, albeit the feeling of Big Brother did permeate the camp.

Let the Good Times ROLL

Toilet paper is an American family enigma that is not going away anytime soon.  I have yet to meet a family that consists of two or more family members, where one is NOT a Toilet Paper Nazi.  I mean, really.  If you’re going to buy cheap, flimsy, poke-my-fingers-through TP, then I need to use at least one-and-a-half good spins to adequately polish off the job.

I have fond teenage memories of gathering around the dinner table with Dad, Mom, my older brother and younger sister, and listening to my father’s lecture about toilet paper usage violations.  Distinctly I can still hear the deep, baritone voice commanding, “If you are a scruncher, you need to become a folder.”  And thus I embarked on my folding days, which have served me well for twenty-something years.  (I have saved my husband million$ of dollar$ during the past 21 years, thanks to my father’s wisdom.)

Yesterday, I asked my brother if he remembered that family “talk.”  He replied in his money-minded, business-like manner, “No, but I’ve always been a folder, so it wasn’t something that applied to me.”  Then he proceeded to tell me that everyone in his family uses too much bathroom tissue, exceptions include only himself and his diapered son.  (See!  He’s the TP Nazi in his house.)  He mentioned one infraction when he heard the roll spin faster than a centrifuge.  He wanted to yell, “I hope you’re cleaning the whole bathroom with that!”  But didn’t.

Since my conversion to Coupon Sense, we have, for the first time in our married life, purchased QUALITY toilet paper.  (It was on sale AND there was a coupon, making it less expensive than the bargain brand!)  Only being familiar with the cheap goods, this new stuff feels like 12 ply.  Sweet luxury at my disposal.  Unknowingly, I married a TP Nazi, and he stood true to form after the new flannel-soft privy paper appeared in our powder room.  Rick yelled from the john one night, “I hope you’re using less of this toilet paper now that we have this good stuff.”   I assured him that I was still a folder, ….but only twice now.

In the early hours of the morning, necessity called and I made enough movements getting out of bed to ensure Rick’s wakeful state.  After sitting there in the dark for several minutes, I yanked on the paper harder than I ever have and that baby spun as fast as my front-loading washing machine on full tilt.  Rick hollered from the bed, “I bet you had to put your arm way over your head to make it spin that fast.”  Oh, did we laugh.  Undeviating from his economical character he added, “You better be rolling that back on there!”  I could not stop laughing.  O.K., I was really overtired, but it still makes me smile.

Who’s the TP Nazi in your home?  If you can’t think of anyone else, it’s probably YOU!