Before we get to the toilet paper, allow me to set the stage. This was my first time going to Cecil’s. The food was delicious (I had latkes) and there was a 3,000-year-old man talking about his life. Amazing.
Using the bathroom requires one to walk through the prep kitchen, which, frankly, feels illegal. They are at the bottom of a set of blue stairs that aren’t creepy, but are eery, maybe? If there hadn’t been someone using the bathroom immediately before me, I would assume that the non-urinal bathroom hadn’t been touched in at least 57 years. It just had that vibe.
Anyway, onto the review.
I don’t know if the lady ahead of me literally used the last of the toilet paper or what, but the dispenser had two of the cleanest TP tubes I’ve ever seen. Not a scrap of TP left on either of them. Fortunately there were four rolls, still in their Bedford wrappers, sitting atop the toilet tank.
This is a new one for TCTPR: starting a brand-new roll of toilet paper. Obviously I do that at home all the time (every day, according to Charmin), but not in public bathrooms.
Inside the wrapper was a roll that felt very soft and cushiony. I had high hopes. Then I started undoing the glued edge, and everything literally fell apart. The plies couldn’t wait to divorce themselves, but soon found that they could not stand on their own. Without the support of the other ply, they shredded to pieces.
When I finally managed to get past the glue and unravel a reasonable amount, I thought that this could still go okay. The plies were thin, but it was still more opaque than many other TPs and it retained some of the softness I felt on the entire roll. The pattern and quilting meant to hold the plies together didn’t work, but that doesn’t always mean a low quality TP.
This time though, it did—it has prompted me to make an official policy out of something I’ve mostly been doing anyways. Look, I’ve been wiping for a long time—way longer than I’ve been reviewing toilet paper, in fact. I’ve used more types of toilet paper than I care to count. I say this because I know how much toilet paper to use. I err on the side of using too much, especially when I’m reviewing it.
I, a professional* toilet paper reviewer, should never end up with a wet hand. If this is happening to me, I can’t imagine what you’re all going through. Thank goodness you have me. So, my new official policy is that if my hand gets wet, the highest possible rating for that TP is a D.
This toilet paper, despite being thin and without any amount of heft, was soft and had an aesthetically-pleasing pattern. It tore cleanly at the perforation, and the average person won’t have to go through the process of starting a new roll so I’m not factoring that in very much. But, even though I took an extremely reasonable amount, it wasn’t enough to protect my hand.
Next time you go to Cecil’s, stick to the food and don’t go to the bathroom.
