Different Slants

by Robert M. Katzman © March 9, 2022

So, after Carson made an untrue joke about a consumer toilet paper running out, for whatever reason, the nation panicked; descended on the stores all across America and cleaned off the shelves… thereby creating an ACTUAL shortage when there really was none. I owned Bob’s Newsstand at the time in Chicago’s Hyde Park, across the parking lot from the A&P and decided to not take any chances. I was 23, married and untrusting of the reality of rumors.

Since I opened the newsstand early in the morning, about 5am after Carson’s midnight show, and before the A&P opened, I decided to go on offense. I also had a kosher delicatessen – The Deli-Dali – in that same shopping area and the owners of the various businesses next to me knew my face… we were all friendly.

I walked across the parking lot from where I’d parked my van and stood in front of the A&P to see if I could catch the manager’s eye, because he too arrived early to receive deliveries in his much larger store. Then I saw him and he saw me, and I waved. He came over, opened the door and asked what was up.

I was betting that he, being considerably older than me, probably didn’t stay up until midnight watching TV and perhaps was unaware of the soon-to-be actual toilet paper shortage. I told him I was stocking up on different items for my three newsstands, Deli and home. Could I make a quick purchase from him? He said nothing about Carson or his joke. I guessed right.

He said sure, let me in, and when asked where the toilet paper was, he showed me the aisle, and where the various brands were stacked up like poker chips. He told me to take what I needed and pay him on my way out. I thank him, the loaded my empty basket with seventy rolls of toilet paper, careful not to take all of it and leave a fair-sized variety behind for him to sell the moment he opened his store in a few hours. 

When I called for him to ring me out, he was in the back of his store and came forward to ring me out. I had arranged the paper rolls in neat stacks to make it easy for him to count, ten stacks of seven. He smiled and asked me if I was expecting a rage of stomach flu in my home and stores? I smiled, said nothing. Time was passing.

Then, deciding what-the-hell, I asked him for a discount for the 70 rolls, a quantity discount between stores.

He said sure and reduced the price, rang up the sale. I paid him cash, he unlocked the door for me, I thanked him for helping me, and I quickly walked back across the parking lot, directly to my big empty van. The 70 rolls fit easily in there as I tossed them in like melons. Then I closed the door and locked it. 

In a few hours, all across America, forty-nine years ago, the population swarmed into every grocery, 7/11,  and gas station, paid maids in motels to sell them a dozen, and very quickly there were none.

Prices went up, there was no computer or “online” at that time, just newspaper ads, or flyers tacked onto walls. 

Soon restaurants and hotels ran out. It may be difficult to imagine such a swift removal of an essential item.

A few other early birds like me made a quick killing selling their booty to desperate people, like gas or nylons on the black-market in World War Two. But I didn’t do that. Frankly, I would never do that.

I bought my 70 rolls so as time went on, my bride and I would have it. It wasn’t like dead fish that would stink after a while. Took us a loooooong time to use them up. The illusion of a shortage was quickly reversed as Johnny Carson retracted his silly comment the next day, and the nation’s paper mills churned out millions of extra rolls.

Skip ahead 47 years to 2020 and the same thing happened again. This time it was real. Again, I went on offense, now seventy years old. I went to the Costco giant supply marts before they opened, was first in line and grabbed the big bundles of twenty which was the limit per person. I kinda felt I was in a Time Loop, but pushed on. 

I was living in rural Racine. I raced around the area to all the big and little groceries, buying whatever was allowed and within a week, had a hundred rolls. It was always two-ply rolls because long ago my mother, sister, grandmother, and later, wife told me it was softer for them to use. In my family – originally immigrants from Eastern Europe – there was no backtalk to the women. Besides being slugged, everything else good would stop: Sex, cooking, conversation, whatever. Tough women in my lineage going backward and forward now, too.

So, again, in about a week of real shortages, I put together 70 rolls of two-ply toilet paper. Victory! Right??

No.

About a year ago my house drain backed up and we couldn’t use the toilets. A widower then, I was mystified by plumbing, and called a local drain-cleaner outfit recommended by my neighbors. Guy came fast, using long whirling metal lengths that ground up anything blocking the sewer pipe leading out of my house. 

Guy said, two things: Tree roots, and that damned two-ply toilet paper. 

The bill was for hundreds. He was a nice guy, too. He warned me to buy this root-killing product: blue crystals, pour them into the basement toilet, and flush it every few months. And stop buying that damned two-ply toilet paper!

He took all of this very personally. 

So, I did as he said, putting the root-kill crystals into the basement toilet faithfully every few months, but unfortunately, with the acquisition of a new girlfriend, and of course concerned about her comfort, I continued to buy two ply toilet paper to shore up my essential supply in case of shortages every 47 or so years. Not a schmuck – I was ready, damnit!

A year later, same situation reoccurred, and I called the same guy back. He did his thing with his monster machine, came up from the basement and told me he had good news and bad news. I told him to hit me with it, I could take it… lying to his face.

He said, the good part is there are no tree roots – zero – clogging up my sewer pipe out to the street.

Nope, all of the congestion was backed-up god-damned two-ply toilet paper. Would people never learn?

I thought he would either cry or swing a wrench at me, but no – just a bill about the same amount as last year, because we were old people and he felt sorry for us. He didn’t say senile, but I felt that radiating from him.

My girlfriend – now, my wife – was concerned about the surprise expense and quickly expressed to the plumber, (then, to me) her newfound devotion to one-ply toilet paper because sometimes people have to change, giving me a loving look, but her eyes said: Idiot! She would have said schmuck, but that wasn’t yet part of her vocabulary.

Now 72, with a strong woman to keep an eye on me, we gathered all of our stash of two-ply toilet paper, filled three big boxes with them – which, quite amazing to me – amounted to, yep, 70 rolls. I placed them in my old car and located a shelter for homeless people. I called the cops first, who immediately redirected me where to call in Downtown Racine. I called the shelter, told them I wanted to make a donation to them and the guy there told me they were already drowning in clothes, shoes, food, and… I interrupted him and said, flatly, with suppressed emotion, that I had 70 rolls of toilet paper – two-ply – as if that made a lick of difference and it was take it or leave it. There were other shelters, y’know…

The guy gulped, and immediately said YES! Bring them over – he’ll have guys waiting to unload the three boxes.

And then driving there I thought about the 70 rolls I bought at a discount in 1973, and now I was donating the same number of rolls to people who needed everything. It kinda amazed me how circular things can be, nearly half a century later: I buyeth and then giveth away. Felt kind of funny, too as I drove away.

Where? Well, if I can find any at nearly 72, I have to buy one-ply toilet paper. Sooner or later, I’ll get it. But frankly, the damn hunt seems kinda old to me now, this never-fucking-ending hunt for toilet paper.

Why do I feel like a schmuck?

**********

Publishing News!

(Currently seeking representation as a speaker/poet for hire)

Bob Katzman’s two new true Chicago books are now for sale, from him!
Vol. One: A Savage Heart and Vol. Two: Fighting Words

Gritty, violent, friendship, classic American entrepreneurship love, death, heartbreak and the real dirt about surviving in a completely corrupt major city under the Chicago Machine. More history and about one man’s life than a person may imagine.

Please visit my new website: http://www.dontgoquietlypress.com
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Send me a money order with your return and contact info.
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Vol 1: A Savage Heart and Vol. 2: Fighting Words
My books weigh almost 2 pounds each, with about 525 pages each and there are a total together of 79 stories and story/poems.

Robert M. Katzman
Don’t Go Quietly Press
PO Box 44287
Racine, Wis. 53404-9998 (262)752-3333, 8AM–7PM

Books cost $29.95 each, plus shipping

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I am also for hire if anyone wants me to read my work and answer questions in the Chicago/Milwaukee area. Schools can call me for quantity discounts for 30 or more books. Also: businesses, bookstores, private organizations or churches and so on.

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