Toilet Paper Wars

It all began on a perfectly normal Saturday morning in the quiet suburb of Maplewood Lane. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and Harold Jenkins had just realized he was down to his last roll of toilet paper.

“Not again,” he muttered, staring into the barren cabinet under his sink. He’d been putting off the grocery trip for days, but now, nature had issued an ultimatum.

At the same time, across the street, 72-year-old Edna Butterworth had just opened her last pack of twelve. Edna, a former military logistics officer turned aggressive couponer, knew exactly what this meant.

“This town is due for a toilet paper panic,” she whispered to her cat, Lieutenant Whiskers. “We strike first.”

What neither of them knew was that the local grocery store, Smiley’s SuperMart, had just restocked a brand-new shipment of Ultra-Fluff 3-Ply, the most coveted toilet paper in town. Due to recent supply chain chaos, each customer was limited to one pack. That’s right—one.

Harold pulled up to Smiley’s in his old Honda Civic, armed with a shopping list and a hopeful heart. As he strolled through the automatic doors, he spotted it: the Toilet Paper Tower. A glorious, towering pyramid of Ultra-Fluff packs, wrapped in golden plastic like treasure from the gods.

But just as he reached out, a hand slapped his away.

“I saw it first, Jenkins,” said Edna, squinting at him through her bifocals.

“Edna, it’s just toilet paper. We can both—”

“No negotiations,” she snapped. “You took the last tin of baked beans in ‘08. I haven’t forgotten.”

And just like that, the war began.

Harold lunged, grabbing a pack, but Edna whipped her shopping cart like a battering ram and blocked him. He ducked, spun, and reached for a second roll, only to be tackled by a flash of gray hair and determination.

“Security to aisle five,” a voice crackled over the intercom.

But no one came.

The cashier, a teenager named Kyle, peeked out from his register and quickly returned to scrolling memes.

Meanwhile, Harold and Edna were locked in a full-on toilet paper tug-of-war. Rolls were flying. Displays were toppling. At one point, someone threw a can of creamed corn like a grenade.

Customers watched in horror and amusement as the two neighbors wrestled with increasing intensity, trading insults and roll counts.

“Your 3-ply is just compensating for your 1-star Yelp review!” Edna shouted.

“You use coupons like they’re battle strategies!” Harold retorted.

At some point, a little girl walked by, picked up a fallen roll, and asked her mom, “Why are those old people fighting over butt paper?”

An elderly man leaned on his cart and nodded. “Classic Maplewood drama. This is better than the Great Cereal Clash of ‘97.”

As the battle raged on, Edna finally made her move. She slipped Harold a decoy roll—generic, single-ply sandpaper in disguise. He grabbed it triumphantly and held it over his head in victory… only to realize the truth too late.

“Nooooooo!”

Edna seized the moment, wheeled her cart around, and made a mad dash for the checkout line.

But Harold wasn’t giving up that easily. He vaulted over a fallen display of canned soup and blocked her path. They stood face to face, breathless, hair wild, hands twitching.

Then… something unexpected happened.

Their eyes met. Not with rage, but recognition. These weren’t enemies. They were survivors. Veterans of countless supermarket skirmishes. Harold slowly reached into his cart, picked up a slightly squashed but still usable pack of Ultra-Fluff, and extended it to Edna.

She looked at it… then at him.

“I’ll trade you for two tins of baked beans,” she said.

“Deal.”

And just like that, peace was restored.

Kyle at the register sighed in relief as the two elderly warriors approached, toilet paper in hand and a strange mutual respect in the air. The rest of the store gave them a slow clap, led by the man from the cereal aisle.

By the time the Maplewood Gazette reported the incident (under the headline: "Roll Models: Neighbors End TP Conflict in Historic Truce"), the video had already gone viral. Social media dubbed it “The Great Toilet Paper War of Maplewood,” and both Harold and Edna became local legends.

They now meet every Saturday morning at Smiley’s, not to fight—but to share coffee and stock up before the amateurs arrive.

The war was over. But the legend lived on.