Who Left the Roll Naked? A Toilet Paper Mystery

There are two types of people in this world: those who change the toilet paper roll… and the rest of you.

To the latter group, I have questions. Deep, soul-searching ones. Like: Are your arms broken? Is the cardboard tube invisible to your eyes? Or are you just waiting for the Toilet Paper Fairy to do her rounds? Are you on a permanent toilet paper roll changing strike?

Because every workplace ladies’ toilet I’ve ever entered features the same tragic scene, a lone, empty cardboard roll clinging to the holder like it’s trying to die with dignity. Naked. Vulnerable. And always… ignored.

Now here’s the kicker: ladies, we’re already sitting down. Literally in the prime position to act. You’re not mid-skydive. You’re not balancing on a tightrope. You are seated. Staring straight ahead at a boring poster on the back of the door or at the sad, empty cardboard roll sitting cold and pleading for your help. There’s even a fresh new roll just there in the holder, crying out for its moment to shine. So… why don’t we just change the spare?

The best part? Some people almost get there. They retrieve the new roll, then, plot twist, they don’t replace it. Instead, they balance it on top of the cardboard husk like a weird shrine to mediocrity. I once walked into a cubicle where two full rolls were stacked like a toilet paper Stonehenge. I nearly lodged an incident report.

Then there’s the other kind of roll changer. The one who actually does it. Both rolls replaced. A miracle! We celebrate! We rejoice! But then… you look down. And what do you see? Two sad, naked cardboard tubes and the plastic wrapping from the new roll… on the floor. Like a crime scene from an eco-horror film.

You were so close. You had one foot in greatness and the other in a pile of discarded toilet paper debris. You’ve moved out of the “I won’t change it” club and straight into the “I will, but I’m now a certified litter bug.” Honestly… I don’t even know which is worse.

I’ve changed so many rolls I started counting them like gold stars on a behaviour chart. Six in one day. That’s six people who stared into the abyss and said, “Not my job.” I even started drafting a pitch to the L&D team:

“How to Change a Toilet Roll: A Journey in Leadership, Legacy, and Tissue Management.”

Pop a little screen above the door lock. Just-In-Time Learning at its finest: "While you’re there, change the spare.”

Now let’s also not forget the great toilet paper debate that still divides households and marriages: Over or under? Should the paper waterfall gracefully from the top like a symbol of order and hope? Or dribble sadly from the back like it’s trying to sneak out unnoticed? (It’s over, people. Let’s not make it weird.)

Maybe it’s time to embed Toilet Roll Responsibility into the national curriculum, right after “How to Load a Dishwasher Without Rage” and just before “How to Merge Without Causing a Traffic Incident.”

And just in case you’re still not convinced, allow me to bring in one of the greatest moral dilemmas from modern television history: The Stall episode of Seinfeld, where Elaine, mid-pee, realises there’s no toilet paper. She politely asks her cubicle neighbour for a few squares. The neighbour replies: “I can’t spare a square. I haven’t a square to spare.”

Let that scene haunt you. Don’t be that person. Don’t leave someone stranded. Cold. Panicked. Mid-wipe. Change the bloody roll.

My kids can do it. And yes, there were complaints when I stopped doing it for them, but they survived. No injuries. No therapy required. If an eight-year-old can manage a roll swap, you can too.

So next time you’re sitting, scrolling, pondering life and reviewing the passive-aggressive workplace poster on the back of your toilet door, remember you have the power. Don’t leave it naked. Don’t make Elaine’s nightmare someone else’s reality.

Change. The. Roll.