I Stayed at a 5-Star Hotel and the Toilet Paper Was a Single-Ply Crime Against Humanity

Let me set the scene. I paid $847 for one night at a hotel that calls itself "luxury." The lobby had a chandelier the size of a Honda Civic. A guy named Sebastian handed me a warm towel infused with lemongrass like I was some kind of king. The room had a tablet that controlled the goddamn curtains.

And then I went to take a shit.

And I saw it.

Sitting there, in its $800 bathroom with heated floors and a bidet that speaks French, was a roll of toilet paper so thin, so fragile, so utterly fucking useless that I felt personally insulted. Like the hotel looked me in the eye and said "you know what? Fuck this guy in particular."

The Science of Getting Shit On Your Fingers

I am a man of science. I couldn't just be angry — I had to quantify the outrage. So I conducted a series of tests like a goddamn NASA engineer.

Test 1: The Fold Test. I took one square of this so-called "toilet paper" and folded it. It did not fold. It disintegrated. The square basically gave up on life. It looked at me with its one-ply eyes and said "I wasn't made for this world, and neither was your asshole."

Test 2: The Wet Test. I touched a single square to a drop of water. The square immediately dissolved into a pile of fibrous sadness. If this paper encountered any moisture at all — and I don't need to draw you a fucking diagram of what kind of moisture we're talking about — it would simply cease to exist. Poof. Gone. Like my dignity.

Test 3: The Practical Test. I used three feet of paper. Three feet. And my hand still went through it like I was trying to catch a ghost. I had to use approximately the entire roll just to feel marginally clean. At this rate, a single bowel movement requires an entire rainforest's worth of paper. I'm single-handedly destroying the Amazon because this hotel is too cheap to buy two-ply.

I have since learned that luxury hotels use single-ply toilet paper on purpose — because it's cheaper and it doesn't clog their fancy European plumbing. They are saving money at the direct expense of my asshole. Let that sink in. They chose saving a few cents over my asshole's wellbeing.

The Conspiracy Goes Deeper Than You Think

I started asking around. I called other hotels. I did research. And what I discovered is a coordinated conspiracy among the entire hospitality industry to gaslight guests into thinking that wiping your ass with tissue paper is acceptable.

They put you in a room with a mattress that costs more than my first car. They give you a robe that feels like a cloud made of silk. They leave a chocolate on your pillow. And then they expect you to wipe your ass with paper that was clearly designed by someone who has never, in their entire life, had to wipe their own ass. I want to meet the person who approved this toilet paper. I want to look them in the eye and ask them: "Have you ever shit? Have you ever had to clean up after shitting? Because it seems like you haven't, and I have questions."

It's a power move. They're saying, "Yes, you can afford our hotel, but you will never be truly clean. You will always have a little bit of shit on you. That's the tax you pay for being here."

The Verdict

I'm writing this from the hotel lobby, where I just bought a pack of Charmin from the gift shop for $14. It was the best $14 I've ever spent. I am now a man with dignity again. My asshole thanks me.

If you work in hotel management and you're reading this: I know you're using single-ply to save money. I know you think we can't tell. But we can tell. We can always tell. And we will never forgive you. Also, fuck you.