Exactly one week ago I started noticing the various news
articles and social media posts about the sudden run on toilet paper that was
leading to a shortage of this valuable commodity. It seemed ridiculous at the
time, but it also occurred to me that if enough people panic-purchased toilet
paper, there would be none left for the non-panicked types like me. And that
thought caused a minor panic.
I decided to take a quick inventory of our toilet paper rolls, both active and on deck. We had eight rolls, so we weren’t in imminent need of the stuff. Still, I thought perhaps I should pick up an extra package just to be safe. So the next morning I took a detour on the way to work and stopped at our local Fry’s.
Upon entering Fry’s at about 7:25 A.M. on Wednesday, March 11, 2020, everything looked pretty normal. There weren’t very many customers at this hour and the shelves seemed well-stocked. I decided to pick up a couple of other things we needed on my way to the paper goods aisle. I grabbed bananas, soup, and Ritz crackers (a.k.a. breakfast, lunch, and dinner) and headed toward the back of the store. I turned the corner of my targeted aisle and came upon an interesting scene.
The rows of shelves that are normally happily occupied by a wide variety of toilet paper brands were nearly empty. There were maybe four or five packages left, spread out throughout the shelves. But there was a much larger amount of toilet paper—maybe eight or nine packages— in the shopping cart of a woman in her early 30s standing in front of these sparse shelves. She was having a heated conversation with a woman about twice her age who was holding one package of toilet paper.
Non-hoarder: You know there’s really no need to panic. If everyone just bought the normal amount of toilet paper, we would all have what we need.
Hoarder: I’m not panicking. I just had four rolls of toilet paper at home, so I needed to get more. (Apparently she wanted this woman to believe that she normally buys 60 to 70 rolls of toilet paper at a clip.)
At this point, I quietly slid behind the hoarder to grab a six-pack of Quilted Northern. On a whim, I decided that while I was in this aisle I might as well grab a pack of tissues and paper towels, even though there was still an abundance of those items on the shelves. I grabbed my packs of paper goods and quickly left the aisle, as I was in no way interested in sticking around to see if this TP-argument escalated into a TP-melee.
That was Wednesday. By Friday, of course, everything had changed, as the grocery stores were now entering zombie apocalypse territory. When I went to the store on Friday, I had intended to pick up only a couple of items, but the moment I saw the barren look of all the shelves and the desperate look of all the shoppers, I realized it was in the best interest of the Schwartzberg household for me to pick up anything I could get my hands on that was remotely edible. As I weaved my way through the panicked shoppers I decided to take a peak down the paper goods aisle. We didn’t need any toilet paper, but I was just curious. There was nothing down that aisle. No toilet paper, no paper towels, no tissues, no napkins. Just empty shelves and a lone tumbleweed.
In the days following this anxiety-inducing shopping excursion I went to a variety of stores to see about the availability of toilet paper, because it occured to me that one day my family will run out. On Saturday I went to Safeway, CVS, and Walgreens, with no luck. On Sunday I went to Fry’s, Target, and Big Lots with no luck. Out of desperation, I decided to check out the 99-cent store, figuring that even though their toilet paper might have visible tree bark in it, it was better than using a wool mitten. But they were empty, as well. The next morning I went to the opposite end of the spectrum and tried Whole Foods—but alas, no toilet paper, vegan or otherwise.
So now it’s down to math. There are currently 14 rolls of toilet paper in our household, with two already started. Each unstarted roll contains 308 sheets of toilet paper. Let’s assume that the two started rolls are about half done, constituting about one roll combined. That means we currently have 13 x 308 = 4,004 sheets of toilet paper. If each person in the household is allotted eight sheets per day, we would need 4 x 8 = 32 sheets daily. With 4,004 sheets available, it would take us just about 125 days before we ran out, or about four months. Of course, if we decrease our intake of fruits and vegetables, and increase our intake of hard cheese and pound cake, we could probably last for an additional month, but that might lead to other issues. In either case, I’m hopeful that our current supply outlasts the great Toilet Paper Famine of 2020.
Now if only we could wash our hands.
I decided to take a quick inventory of our toilet paper rolls, both active and on deck. We had eight rolls, so we weren’t in imminent need of the stuff. Still, I thought perhaps I should pick up an extra package just to be safe. So the next morning I took a detour on the way to work and stopped at our local Fry’s.
Upon entering Fry’s at about 7:25 A.M. on Wednesday, March 11, 2020, everything looked pretty normal. There weren’t very many customers at this hour and the shelves seemed well-stocked. I decided to pick up a couple of other things we needed on my way to the paper goods aisle. I grabbed bananas, soup, and Ritz crackers (a.k.a. breakfast, lunch, and dinner) and headed toward the back of the store. I turned the corner of my targeted aisle and came upon an interesting scene.
The rows of shelves that are normally happily occupied by a wide variety of toilet paper brands were nearly empty. There were maybe four or five packages left, spread out throughout the shelves. But there was a much larger amount of toilet paper—maybe eight or nine packages— in the shopping cart of a woman in her early 30s standing in front of these sparse shelves. She was having a heated conversation with a woman about twice her age who was holding one package of toilet paper.
Non-hoarder: You know there’s really no need to panic. If everyone just bought the normal amount of toilet paper, we would all have what we need.
Hoarder: I’m not panicking. I just had four rolls of toilet paper at home, so I needed to get more. (Apparently she wanted this woman to believe that she normally buys 60 to 70 rolls of toilet paper at a clip.)
At this point, I quietly slid behind the hoarder to grab a six-pack of Quilted Northern. On a whim, I decided that while I was in this aisle I might as well grab a pack of tissues and paper towels, even though there was still an abundance of those items on the shelves. I grabbed my packs of paper goods and quickly left the aisle, as I was in no way interested in sticking around to see if this TP-argument escalated into a TP-melee.
That was Wednesday. By Friday, of course, everything had changed, as the grocery stores were now entering zombie apocalypse territory. When I went to the store on Friday, I had intended to pick up only a couple of items, but the moment I saw the barren look of all the shelves and the desperate look of all the shoppers, I realized it was in the best interest of the Schwartzberg household for me to pick up anything I could get my hands on that was remotely edible. As I weaved my way through the panicked shoppers I decided to take a peak down the paper goods aisle. We didn’t need any toilet paper, but I was just curious. There was nothing down that aisle. No toilet paper, no paper towels, no tissues, no napkins. Just empty shelves and a lone tumbleweed.
In the days following this anxiety-inducing shopping excursion I went to a variety of stores to see about the availability of toilet paper, because it occured to me that one day my family will run out. On Saturday I went to Safeway, CVS, and Walgreens, with no luck. On Sunday I went to Fry’s, Target, and Big Lots with no luck. Out of desperation, I decided to check out the 99-cent store, figuring that even though their toilet paper might have visible tree bark in it, it was better than using a wool mitten. But they were empty, as well. The next morning I went to the opposite end of the spectrum and tried Whole Foods—but alas, no toilet paper, vegan or otherwise.
So now it’s down to math. There are currently 14 rolls of toilet paper in our household, with two already started. Each unstarted roll contains 308 sheets of toilet paper. Let’s assume that the two started rolls are about half done, constituting about one roll combined. That means we currently have 13 x 308 = 4,004 sheets of toilet paper. If each person in the household is allotted eight sheets per day, we would need 4 x 8 = 32 sheets daily. With 4,004 sheets available, it would take us just about 125 days before we ran out, or about four months. Of course, if we decrease our intake of fruits and vegetables, and increase our intake of hard cheese and pound cake, we could probably last for an additional month, but that might lead to other issues. In either case, I’m hopeful that our current supply outlasts the great Toilet Paper Famine of 2020.
Now if only we could wash our hands.
