Hysteria in Bathroom: Freshman Can’t Find Start of Toilet Paper

From the hallway, you could hear cries of fear and anguish. Sitting on the toilet in a stuffy dorm bathroom, College freshman Thomas Kraper had just finished his morning defecation. To his dismay, the large roll of industrial toilet paper had not yet been started. A nervous sweat broke on his palms and brow. In college, one can no longer expect the luxury of easily-startable toilet paper like one would at home. 

He craned his hand awkwardly under the dispenser, groping for a strand, a strand of hope that he could pull for salvation. Unable to distinguish any bump or crease where the new roll of industrial toilet paper could begin, Kraper helplessly clawed at the roll. It spins and spins. 

“The roll just spun,” Kraper recalls, painfully, “Around and around. There was no end. There was no beginning. It spun and spun, like the repeating days of my life. An endless cycle, indistinguishable, unrecognizable. Time blurs into a haze.”

In his panic, Kraper furiously clawed at the roll, his dirty fingernails tearing into it. It continued to spiral, now emitting bits of toilet paper. The ground was littered with bits of white fuzz. He screams.

After an unintelligible length of unconscious panic, Kraper emerged from his trauma and gathered his thoughts. Still on the toilet with his pajamas around his ankles, he decided that his only was to resort to rough paper towels meant for hands.

“Using the paper towels was a traumatic experience. It still burns to this day,” Krapper says. “But I lived to tell the tale, and that’s all that matters.”