Last Friday, I discovered the ladies’ room on my floor was out of that rough, cheap grey substance that could only charitably be called “toilet paper”. Knowing how long it takes for the staff to do anything (we’re talking about a building that was too cheap to turn on heating until late November, leaving us freezing in the office), during my break, I went to the nearby shop and bought four rolls of good, soft toilet paper, leaving them there as a hint to stop “saving on matches”, as we Russians say.

Today I found out that only the one roll I unpacked remained on the counter, while the pack with the three other rolls vanished without a trace. Out of curiosity, I went to the men’s room to look if some of them were moved there, only to see that its supply of toilet paper was running out as well and nobody even thought of putting another roll there, even from the three spare ones I provided.