The sphincter is sacred.

It deserves nothing but consistent TLC, and it definitely don’t want no “scrubs.”

Unfortunately, the toilet paper in Ryerson’s bathrooms has the loving embrace of a dish scrub, and this is absolutely no way to treat the bottoms of the university’s community.

Ryerson’s elephant in the bathroom first became apparent to me two months ago when a not-so-hot dog from the vendor outside the Rogers Communications Centre decided to swim through my system like Michael Phelps in a Beijing pool. I bolted for the bathroom on the first floor of the RCC, and after the “medal ceremony,” I reached into the cold, rusted toilet paper dispenser. To my dismay, I pulled out a single white square that felt like an old receipt.

The material was so thin that ripping off more than one square at a time without the entire sheet unravelling into stringy threads took careful precision. Folding, scrunching and eventually utilizing the sad excuse Ryerson calls toilet paper took more dexterity than a root canal — imagine cleaning mud off a horse with a Q-Tip.

I thought that while bad things happen, often uncontrollably (such as eating a hot dog with a temper), our social safety net would always catch us in its pillowy, two-ply embrace. How wrong I was.

After my disturbing experience, I decided to scout other bathrooms around campus, and to no surprise, it’s a vast, one-ply landscape out there. Eric Palin Hall? One shy little ply. Computing and Engineering building? Thin Finn. Jorgenson Hall? Dragonfly wings.

It’s not as if two-ply is off the charts expensive. A simple search on Grocery Gateway has the two-ply TP listed at $4.50 for six rolls. And just like any self-respecting establishment, the one ply is not even an option at Grocery Gateway.

The idea is not radical. I am not asking for gold-plated bidets that constantly spew “Fruits and Passion” foaming soap in gorgeous unison like the fountain show at the Bellagio. I’m simply asking for one more layer. (Although the bidets would be a nice way of saying you’re sorry.)

Above all great causes worth fighting for around campus, amongst the marches for the Student Refugee Program, the rallies for gay rights, and the protests to lower fees, I propose that no cause is more important than cleanliness. Before we donate thousands of dollars to bring students from Africa to study in Toronto, can we not donate the extra few cents per roll to make sure said students don’t long for the bathroom in the third-world country he or she came from?

As the university continues to dish out more money for more video cameras, editing suites, sewing machines, ultrasound technologies and any other indulgent luxuries Ryerson students enjoy, the cold, rusted toilet paper dispenser sits patiently waiting.

The next time I eat a bad hot dog, a funky burrito or anything from Ryerson res, I want to do it with the confidence that most adventurous eaters have: the confidence of two ply. I want to know my university, to which I pay thousands of dollars each year, has the decency to supply the minimum standard when it comes to toilet paper.

I want to wipe with confidence.

I want to wipe with humanity.