Asswipe Ergonomics—February, 2008
Know me well enough and you know this well enough: I like things that work. Things that don't work I don't like much at all.
This simple character trait is precisely why you can scour my house and find none of the following:
- Swiss-Army knife
- Flashlight radio
- Compass/altimeter/barometer/thermometer/inclinometer/anemometer/chronometer watch
- All-in-one printer/scanner/fax
- MP3-player tool belt
These "multi-function" devices are multi-functionless. I avoid them as a matter of personal policy. (Step one: don't shop at Radio Shack.)
This simple idiosyncrasy of mine has spared me immeasurable frustration, a plethora of lacerations, and—at least on one occasion—death. When devices are simple and purpose-built, life is simple. Calming just thinking about it, isn't it?
But sometimes we have no choice. Society imposes upon us its own multi-functionless devices. Functional simplicity takes a back seat to ulterior intentions.
Case in point: toilet paper dispensers.
In concept, dispensing toilet paper does not seem so difficult. One must only securely suspend a roll of toilet paper in the proximity of a toilet so that users of said toilet can reliably retrieve a strip of paper on demand. There is no calculus necessary in engineering a toilet paper dispenser. One need not consider Boyle's Law. And though we can be certain Einstein's theories are probably influencing the behavior of the toilet paper and its dispenser, rest assured a dispenser can be designed without any knowledge of Relativity—the special or general theories.
So why in the peanut butter and jellyfish sandwiches do we end up with this?
Figure 1: Waynz World of Recreation in Big Bend, Wisconsin.
This dispenser is horrible. Encased in a vault of purposeless plastic are two massive rolls of toilet paper. The vault forces users to retrieve paper from the bottom, resulting in an awkward bending over. The rolls of toilet paper are too massive for their tensile strength. Therefore, when the rolls are relatively full, a pull of the paper results not in the dispensation of paper, but rather, the tearing of paper. Then the user must bend over even more awkwardly in search of the roll's end. But...wait...er...the roll won't...spin. You guessed it. The rolls of paper are also too massive for the dispenser, so they rub against one another, spin only in opposing directions, and trap the ends of the toilet paper maddeningly. Mockingly. Multi-purposelessly.
You see, this dispenser was not designed with the sole purpose of dispensing toilet paper well. Dispensing toilet paper well is not required. Dispensing toilet paper at all is a tertiary requirement. This dispenser was designed first and foremost to increase the TBR—or Time Between Refills. Its secondary function is to prevent toilet paper theft.
And though this second example may at first glance appear to be an improvement, it is not.
Figure 2: Wisconsin Athletic Club in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin.
Though kind enough to spare us the frustrations induced by encasing two massive rolls of toilet paper in a vault, the designers of this setup nonetheless chose the vault and chose massive rolls of toilet paper. But the madness doesn't end there. They were so focused on increasing the TBR and preventing toilet paper theft that they hung this dispenser too far from the toilet and too close to the ground. The bending over and the reaching are tortuous. I understand the handicap rail has forced the dispenser lower upon the wall. But if we rid of the plastic vault and use toilet paper rolls of reasonable diameter, the dispenser would hang in a more practical location for its purpose.
It's not hard to dispense toilet paper well if your primary focus is dispensing toilet paper well. The moment you append additional purposes onto a device, you introduce compromises. You introduce additional failure modes, as engineers would say. You introduce multi-purposelessness, as I would say. Proprietors of establishments who hang these types of dispensers don't give a shit about their customers' needs. (Pun intended.)
So what am I proposing? An uncompromising return to simplicity, if you please.
This first example is a monumental improvement.
Figure 3: John Harbor's Main Street Coffee House in Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin.
Hanging simply and securely to the wall is one reasonably-sized roll of toilet paper. This device does not snag or jam. The toilet paper turns freely. And the end of the toilet paper can always be easily found.
My only criticism of this setup is the dispenser's distance from the toilet, which given the dispenser's simplicity, is hung inexcusably far away.
Proprietors of public establishments, on the other hand, are likely to criticize this setup on the basis that it requires frequent refilling and lends itself too easily to toilet paper theft. I make three simple statements regarding these criticisms:
- The more frequently you fill the dispensers, the more frequently you can tidy up the restroom.
- It is an easy thing to improve the refill frequency requirement (as will be demonstrated).
- Your employees are taking home more toilet paper than your customers.
To reduce the frequency with which toilet paper refills are required, one must only supply more rolls of toilet paper.
Figure 4: M&I Bank in Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin.
This device remains simple, has an increased capacity, and can easily be refilled by any user kind enough to do it; extra paper is thoughtfully supplied. My only criticism of this device is it favors lefties, who make up only 7-10% of the adult population.
Simplicity like this should not be taken lightly. These simple dispensers perform their primary function well. They do not force toilet-bound gymnastic maneuvers upon their users. They are inexpensive to deploy, easy to mount, and don't require keys to open. The free market will always supply paper for this type of dispenser, whereas proprietary rolls of paper may come and go.
Yes, so simple are these straightforward toilet paper dispensers that they often suffer catastrophic failure without losing the ability to dispense. Simple things, remember, have fewer failure modes to begin with, and failures are often easily overcome.
Figure 5: Alterra Coffee in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin.
This dispenser has broken and lost a full third of its original parts. And yet it dispenses toilet paper with aplomb.
Shakespeare said, "brevity is the soul of wit."
Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert, said, "Normal people believe that if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Engineers believe that if it ain't broke, it doesn't have enough features yet."
I hope this discussion on asswipe ergonomics underscores the underlying principal of my predilection toward single-function devices: simplicity is calming, complexity is a pain in the butt.
~ topher