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Archaeology has
understandably contributed little when demonstrating how early humans cleaned up after
defecation. Plant materials were, and in some cases still are, the easiest, most
accessible choice available for the requisite maintenance of good hygiene after a bowel
movement. While it is not surprising to find the imprints of various leaves on ancient
coprolites (fossilized stool), similar evidence from such diverse sources as Herodian
Jerusalem, L'Anse Aux Meadows, and Early American Colonial sites seem to point to a
trans-cultural practice which extends well beyond any diffusionist conspiracy. However
popular the usage of plant materials has been, many peoples have long practiced
alternative methods of anal abstersion, such as scrapping (with sea-shells or artifacts of
wood, ivory, etc.), the vigorous application of sand (in arid regions), and the fairly
common practice of utilizing soap, water, and a washcloth after a fecal passing. While
much research is needed in our better understanding of pre and historical toilet behavior,
the current promise (threat?) of "New Age Toilet Paper" may demand the attention
of audiences in boardrooms and bathrooms from Boston to Bombay.
The consumption of a decaf, double mocha latte at one
of the new cyber-cafes should be an effortless waste of time, cash, and social standing.
Still, the all-night tossing back of beers and scotch, a quick breakfast, and a really
embarrassing appearance on the sidewalk in front of THE TODAY SHOW's studio pining for
Katie Curic seems a better goal for uninspired urbans. Yet, a recent visit to a cyber-cafe
opened a vista of possibilities hitherto unforeseen. And, go figure, I've The World Wide
Web and a cup of spilled coffee to thank (curse?) for it.
She called herself "Hassle" and quickly
bought me another latte. The apparent victim of drive-by body-piercing, computer geekette,
and a most comestible chick, apologized a dozen times for bumping my table and sending my
just-purchased coffee to the floor. It was awkward, sweet, and perhaps a setup. Hassle sat
with me, ordered an iced-coffee for herself, and began to spin a yarn about how
contemporary druids only use bathroom tissue made of hard woods, because they foster a
belief in tree-consciousness and soft wood trees, such as pine, are regarded as the
"labrad," the "speakers." Hard wood trees apparently have little to
say and don't mind being used as the means of removing relutent waste. Much of what she
said was lost on me, as the topic of butt-wiping is usually taboo and only discussed when
babies are present and in need of changing. Well, that, and Hassle had a rip in her black
t-shirt and the side of one of her ample breasts kept trying to squeeze through.
Sipping the latte, a smile on my face, and a scantling
of sweat on my forehead, I listened to Hassle diss the current methods of using toilet
tissue. Pulling anywhere from three to nine sheets of "t. p." from a roll, most
either carefully fold the sheets back on top of one another, increasing the strength
through thickness, or crumple all the sheets together in a big ball. The first way
protects the user from a finger poking through the tissue and touching anything icky,
while the second utilizes the "English Muffin" or "nook and cranny"
method. Hassle explained drawbacks to both, as a residual smearing is likely to occur at
some level. This, she explained further, is why the Hare Krishnas never use toilet
paper--Hassle didn't know if they wore underwear beneath their robes--the Krishnas follow
the Indian custom of using a bucket of soapy water and a washcloth. As I listened to her
speak, a fear of fescennine aroma began to form.
I'd chosen a cyber-cafe for something new and
different, and though "our" table was equipped with monitor, rat, and keyboard,
we talked and didn't surf the Net, like everyone else around us. My eyes followed her
gold-stud labret as she spoke, and I was reminded of the old "sing-along"
cartoons with the bouncing ball. I was, admittedly, enamored with Hassle, though on top of
a growing concern about residual fecal matter, I began to hypothesize a scenario which my
girlfriend walked in, called me a "cad," and Hassle concurred, adding that my
butt smelled too.
Taking a long pull from her iced-coffee, hassle slowly
set the glass off to one side of the table and grabbed both my hands, squeezing them
gently, but with an unmistakable, feminine suavity. She told me of surfing the USENET
search-engines before my arrival, like WWW.DEJANEWS or WWW.ALTAVISTA, for new ideas and
how she'd come across a posting for investors in "New Age Toilet Paper." Her
voice, just above a whisper, yet filled with an almost garish confidence, soothed and
excited me at the same time. I was trying to imagine how many tattoos she had on her body
that I couldn't see, when one word began to be repeated again and again--kelp.
"These people expect us to wipe our asses with
seaweed?" I heard myself ask.
When she decried the destruction of our forests, the
chemical wastes produced by milling, the use of chlorine, dyes, and perfumes, and other
sad results of society being addicted to toilet paper, I blinked, but didn't feel anything
on the inside. Then, to my amazement, she remarked how the presence of natural sea-salt
should clean and tighten the skin surrounding her rectum. An image immediately took shape
which made me uncomfortable, as well as sinful, in several major religions.
Looking at my watch, pretending to be late for some
appointment, I rose from the table like a zombie claws from the grave--it wasn't pretty.
Bumping the table, I spilt the last of her iced-coffee, tore a fiver from my wallet and
tossed it, muttering, "Thanks for the chat, sorry about your drink, and good luck
keeping your butt clean..." Her laugh stayed with me for hours, and it was only with
the help of one of my Scotch friends, Glen someone or another, it finally ceased to echo
in my head.
When telephoned later, PROCTOR AND GAMBLE, the makers
of SCOTT TISSUE, would not reveal to me what exact trees they use in the making of their
toilet paper. The balance of hard and soft woods appears some industry secret. And, though
not for lack of trying, I've not been able to locate any info on The Web about investing
in "New Age Toilet Paper." It may be hype, a poor joke, or Hassle playing me
like a glass harmonica.
Sigmund Freud believed if a child experienced a
difficult time during "toilet-training," such a person would likely grow up with
manic traits of orderliness and obstinacy--an anal-retentive. My girlfriend suspects
something is up, because I've taken to using a box of WET-ONES, the disposable, moist
towlettes in the bathroom. Perhaps one day, maybe sooner than we think, "t. p."
as we know it, will be a thing of the past, like leaves and other plant material, when we
scrub our sphincters. And, I'm pretty sure, some people just won't care. But, I will.The End. RDF |
