Someone out there is a toilet paper tester. They check out the scent. They investigate the softness, the flimsiness. They worry about the grip, the ripples, whether it rips. Someone has that job. There are SO many jobs out there that I’ll never have. What an interesting thought. I had to count buttons for a while at a Joanne Fabrics. My mother really pushed me to get that job. It was a good thing. Since then I’ve had jobs that dealt with miscreants and iguanas. Electricity, hydrogen, explosions, amplification and butterfly knives. Oddly enough the most dangerous ones have involved education. I’ve been caught in said explosions, I’ve been electrocuted, I’ve been stabbed and even shot at. I’ve been bitten and burned and set on fire. What an interesting Life.
But I’ll never be able to be paid to give anyone my impression on toilet paper. It seems a shame. I feel I’d bring a lot to the discussion. I’ve had the occasion to use a LOT of different toilet papers. From the nasty-ass (ha!) tissue paper that leaves flakes and fragments, to the (as yet unbeaten) ripply goodness of Cottonelle. Somewhere in the middle is the wondrous toilet paper at Mary’s Lake Lodge in Estes Park, Colorado which feels like a gentle towel. It’s got its place but that stuff was a bit posh for my taste.
People expect me to be opinionated about guitar strings. And I sell many strings based on my hard-won opinions. I’m opinionated about sound gear and instruments and VERY opinionated about politics. To a certain extent my expertise in all of the above is believed in and listened to and paid for, even if it’s only in the form of people buying my CDs. But no-one will ever pay for the hard-won and daily-growing expertise of my ass on paper. Frankly, it seems a shame. My ass just has so much to give.
