Toilet paper shouldn’t have to be this embarrassing

I’ve embarrassed myself hundreds, maybe thousands of times over the years. From the afternoon I forgot to wear pants while washing the car to the time I sat on a playground swing moments before the chain broke and hit me on the head, my life has been one long litany of red-faced vignettes, executed to the delight of nearby friends and family.

You might think this much practice at looking foolish would somehow have inured me to the condition, but nope, every time I do something stupid—depending on who you ask, this takes place on a daily/hourly/ongoing basis—I feel like a doofus.

It doesn’t have to be some supremely dorky moment, even everyday circumstances conspire to make me look a fool. This notion was played out recently in a Detroit area mall.

I was going out to pick up a few sundry household items and my daughter, with whom I was staying at the time, asked if I’d also grab a package of toilet paper.

Now, as far as I know, everyone in the civilized world uses toilet paper. But it’s one of those things “polite” folks (I’m not one myself, but I’ve heard they exist) don’t talk about in mixed company. Considering its intended purpose, I suppose I can understand that.

I mean, every time I see that TP commercial featuring the bear family (that does you-know-what in the woods) I die a little inside. I’m not particularly squeamish, but really. Bears?

At any rate, unlike in my married days, when I was occasionally forced to pick up euphemistically-named “feminine hygiene products,” buying toilet paper doesn’t—as a rule—cause me any embarrassment.

This trip was different.

The mall at which I was shopping is very upscale. Though anchored by two mega-retailers selling discount items, the rest of the mall is crowded with snooty little jewelry stores, designer boutiques and chic salons. My first stop was the discount store, where I found a great deal on toilet paper, a giant-sized block of “southern cleansing enhancer” as big as a Buick.

There was no bag large enough to contain this monstrous slab of tissue, so I lugged it into the mall balanced precariously on my shoulder, hopeful I would not be bumped, thereby causing me to drop the cube and crush any nearby children or little old ladies.

By the time I had tracked down all the items on my own shopping list, I had been sniggered at by zit-faced teens at Spencer’s Gifts, the skinny 20-somethings stationed just inside the Gap and perhaps worst of all, the gorgeous sweeties hawking male fantasies at Victoria’s Secret. A little old lady checking out orthopedic shoes shook her head and smiled at my plight. (I considered dropping the cube and crushing her, but that seemed a little drastic.)

Everyone uses toilet paper! But you can bet I won’t again be advertising that fact at the mall.

More Reality Check online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.mlive.com. Email Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com. Mike’s new book, Looking at the Pint Half Full is available at mtrealitycheck.com.

Don’t flush! That could be valuable someday

With $4 per gallon gasoline the norm and still higher prices looming just around the corner, it was bound to happen: Energy providers are finally being forced to seek out alternatives to fossil fuels.

Wind, solar, nuclear—all play their part. But in San Antonio, officials have turned to another source; one that will never dry up (unless left in the sun too long): Poo.

Not as in Winnie the— but rather the stuff that usually gets flushed away a few hours after a trip to a Mexican restaurant.

I know, I know, it’s tacky to talk about it. And I don’t want to offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities. But this is important, man! Nothing less than the future of our country’s energy independence is at stake here.

So let’s all just try to be grown up about this and forge ahead.

The plan in San Antonio is to “harvest” the methane gas from what officials there are calling “biosolids.” (Everyone else is still calling it “poo,” at least if they have kids in the home; otherwise they’re calling it even worse things. But nobody, except for the officials, is calling it “biosolids.”)

This methane gas, which usually does nothing but stink the place up on chili night, will instead be used to fuel furnaces, power plants and other internal combustion-based engines. Once in place and fully operational, the system will recycle about 90 percent of the “materials” flushed down San Antonio’s toilets.

In addition to harvesting (I love their use of that word) the gas, the “solids” will be used for compost and the “liquids” for irrigation.

I’d like to own a nose plug franchise in San Antonio a year from now. Though, according to officials (the same ones who call poo “biosolids”) the smell will be relatively inoffensive.

At any rate, with gas prices going nowhere but up, San Antonio’s plan can only be lauded as a good thing.

Still, I see a few problems on the horizon, ones the energy experts, in their earnest desire to find new resources, may have overlooked. See, right now San Antonio’s the perfect place to set up a system like this; the residents there (from what I’ve heard) live almost exclusively on barbecue. Beef, pork, and lots and lots of ‘taters and gravy—a diet sure to produce tons of “biosolids” every day.

But what happens if San Antonites (Antonians?) decide to diet or— Heaven forbid—become vegetarians? All of a sudden, the “bottom” drops out of the biosolid market and the whole profit structure is “flushed” away! Stockholders in the energy companies are “wiped” out!

OK, I’m all out of dumb bathroom puns.

In truth, I love San Antonio’s plan. I just think they need to make sure the infrastructure is solidly in place before going ahead with it. In order for this system to function well into the future, city officials should mandate a Mexican restaurant or rib joint on every other corner throughout San Antonio’s metro district.

Additionally, I recommend the installation of hundreds of additional public lavatories (AKA “biosolid collection stations”) city-wide.

Finally, the city should offer tax breaks to restaurants that offer only “large” and “supersize” portions. Any restaurant offering a “small” anything should have to pay an additional 2-percent energy tax.

Cholesterol be damned! We should all get “behind” this “movement.” (OK, so I had a couple dumb bathroom puns left, after all.)



More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.