In our day-to-day lives, false advertisements run amuck. We see them in those outrageous diet pill commercials: promising a new, thin, more socially-accepted version of yourself if you just pop these pills, no harm done. They show an amazing sandwich from some fast-food place masquerading as fine-dining (haha, first comes the sandwich then comes the diet pills), where it looks too good to be true, and then what do you know? Upon receiving the downgraded version, you realize it really was too good to be true.

But, besides those generic everyday examples that I have learned to ignore, one such false advertisement recently struck me as a profound and blatant LIE.

I was in the bathroom in my dorm the other day, performing typical bathroom functions, when I happened upon five or six surplus rolls of toilet paper with their backs against the wall, looking pathetic and cheap. I could have just disregarded this not so unusual sight, if not for the fact that the label struck me so deeply. In bright colors of the rainbow variety was the word ‘FIESTA’ spread right across the center of each roll. Only now did I come to understand why there was such a generosity in toilet paper packages on my floor.

These seemingly festive celebrations of bathroom accessory were actually the biggest examples of irony I have come to find inside a bathroom, thus far.

Now, I don’t think of myself as a princess of sorts. When conditions are rough, I can deal with them pretty well. But earlier this year, the plastic toilet seat upset me so much, both aesthetically and functionally, that I had no choice but to replace it with an obscenely bright, yellow Spongebob cushion seat instead. Truth be told, I probably did have more choice in toilet seat choosings, but among the other dull seats, the Spongebob one really struck me. See, this is an example of useful advertising: the bright colors attracted me toward a purchase rather than bringing more attention to an obvious falsehood.

In any case, the toilet paper in my bathroom has always seemed too thin, nothing close to a 1,000-count, but something more along the lines of 10 ‘ on a good day. Ten-count does not make a person happy. Ten-count will never inspire a joy in someone so undeniable that they break into a fiesta in the bathroom, streamers a flyin’, music blasting, etc. If anything, the only thing 10-count would accomplish is an unsatisfactory bathroom experience that will irk the person involved every time they return.

Instead, I find this paper more reminiscent of a long wait at the post office with a flatulent old man in front of you and a whiny child behind you. Perhaps if these rolls were labeled in gray or black: ‘MEDIOCRE,’ ‘APPROACHING DISAPPOINTMENT’ or ‘YOU’RE BETTER OFF WIPING WITH THE SHIRT OFF YOUR BACK,’ then chances are I would still be disgruntled with the quality, but at least I could sleep at night not feeling like I had been hood-winked by Fiesta toilet paper.