Russian Business – The Great Toilet Paper Holder Saga

May 11, 2009

“Potrick, Potrick!! I am tired of this old toilet paper holder. It’s soooo old. We need new.” Were the sounds coming from the toilet room about 10 days ago.

“YES dear, you are right as always; probably.” And so began the great toilet paper holder saga.

Irina had a point, the home-made Soviet Standard toilet paper holder was old, was kinda ugly, and had an aged yellowed look detracted from the toilet room’s recently installed royal reddish wall paper. Definitely a decorator conflict!

More importantly it had one design characteristic that I also particularly didn’t like; you could call it a environmental design flaw. It was an “L” shaped kinda thing with the short part of the “L” mounted to the wall. The other open-ended part stuck out towards the door so you could just slide the roll on and there the paper sat ready for use. However, the way it worked in real life after you finished with the paperwork and headed out of the little room, your leg generally knocked the paper roll of the holder and paper ended up rolling down the corridor. This was especially a pain when the cat was around, a small problem quickly could turn into a major mess as the cat found a new toy; but with the recent demise of the cat that nuisance is no longer an issue. Other than this small design flaw it was perfectly serviceable, it fit into the toilet easily without taking up too much room and it had no working parts that were likely to fail. These are always important points to consider when contemplating a new project in Russia. But Irina was insistent and the search for a new paper holder commenced.

A few days later, while heading to a mega home stuff store we came upon a small hardware/building stuff store. “Irichka, lets go see what kind of toilet paper rollers they may have.” Up the stairs we went to this dingy, cluttered “Mom & Pop” store that had little bits of everything scattered all over. Actually, like many Russian stores, there generally are a number of vendors operating under the same roof, each selling their own specialty items. So if you asked a sales person where to look for something and that something wasn’t what they sold the answer is always “I don’t know”. After sifting through tons of stuff we didn’t need, we found what we did need – two different paper holders. Plus they were the standard American style with a spring-loaded dowel to hold the paper roll! “Heey these don’t look too bad, what do’ya think Irichka?”

Irina wasn’t too excited, I could tell. They were obviously Russian Production and I didn’t particularly want to carry it for the next 3-4 hours. “Ummm, their OoK, but we will keep looking.” Our outing continued and took us to a number of our favorite home supply stores; Doma Homa (my translation of “Domovoy” the actual name) was the first large mega store. Irina looked at lighting fixtures and I looked at toilet roll holders.

I didn’t know how to explain “toilet paper holder” in Russian so I just wandered around the plumbing supply area. Finally, way back in the corner I found their bathroom fixtures. There seemed to be like 10 choices of everything except toilet paper holders. The options were model A or model B, both categorically rejected for their faulty design. These had the same flaw as the one we wanted to replace, plus they were expensive. European, of course. Looking further I finally spied what I was looking for. Then the price hit me like a hammer. “Yikes!! 2,200 Rubles for a standard chrome plated toilet paper holder!!! That’s over $60!! Must be Italian, specially priced just for Russians. Not something an American pensioner would be interested in.”

I returned found Irina still staring at the ceiling looking at all the hanging lamps. “Do you have a crick in your neck from looking at all the lamps, dear?”

“No, there is nothing here Potrick. AND I CANT BELIEVE. All of the lamps only use these tiny little energy saving bulbs. They won’t give us any light!

“Irina, what are you saying here is one with standard size bulbs.”

“Potrick, look! That is Russian production! Ugly!! I want European and they only use the tiny bulbs now, which probably won’t make much light. Terrible, what to do??” It appeared as if our shopping day was getting off to a bad start.

“OK, maybe it is just here at Doma Homa. Lets go to the other store by the Grand Canyon.” The Grand Canyon, in St Petersburg is not a canyon, it is a high-end shopping mall with a “Home Depot like” store attached. Again it was the double whammy, no acceptable toilet paper holders, no ceiling lamps, at least not the type we were looking for. “Irina, we may just have to lower our standards if we are going to get anything at all.” And so we decided, Irina bought a lamp with the tiny bulbs and I bought the toilet paper holder from mom and pop. We got home and the first thing was, of course, hang the new ceiling light for Irina. Always beauty over utility for a woman.

Hanging a light fixture would be a snap I had lots of prior electrical experience. Back before my Kirby Salesman days, my summer job title had been “Non-Union Electrician’s Helper”. In those days, even before the global warming crisis, summers in Austin, Texas were hot and working in a “Non-Union” outfit most of our jobs were residential electrical remodeling. One of the primary duties in the job description of a “Non-Union Electrician’s Helper” was “fishing wire”. I liked fishing, so the job didn’t sound too bad and besides it would be cool down by the lake. Driving up to our first job, looked around, saw no lake, no river. Not wanting to sound too stupid I kept my mouth shut and thought “Well maybe we just won’t be doing any fishing today”.

After we unloaded the truck, got set up, and lined out the work to do my “Non-Union Master Electrician” splained fishing to me. “Here bowa, take this drill, this fishing whar, git up thar into the attic, crawl over to this here wall, dreill you a hole tween these here walls. AND BOWA DON’T screw up and drill into the room!!! Thein you drop your fishing whar down to me were I’ll be a waitin, I tie on yor whar and you pull er up. Thein carry the end of the whar to this here wall and dreill you a nother hole tween these here walls. AND BOWA DON’T screw up and drill into the room!!! Jest drop that whar down to me and thein you come on down. Oh yhea, don’t fergit to staple down the whars up thar fore you come on down.”

“Uh, This is not exactly the fishing trip I had expected.” I thought while climbing up into the attic. As my head poked into the attic space I could see lots of fiberglass insulation and a ceiling so low I would be forced to climb on my hands and knees. Oh yes the temperature was probably 120 or 130 degrees. Got all my gear up and started the crawl to our wall. He didn’t mention anything about falling through the ceiling into the room, but I bet that would not be appreciated any more than drilling into the room. Found the wall, drilled the hole and dropped my fishing line down to my “Non-Union Master Electrician”. He was down there waiting in air-conditioned comfort, flirting with the lady of the house who was still in her morning robe, and takes his time tying the wire onto my fishing line.

Finally yells “Take her up bowa” and gets back to his flirting.

I drag the wire to the next wall, drill the hole and drop it down. Again interrupting my “Non-Union Master Electrician’s” flirting with work I yell, “the wires should be down there, I am heading back down!!” Grabbing all my gear, carefully trying not to fall through the ceiling, I drag my self back to the ladder. The closer I get the cooler it becomes, as my legs start down the ladder it feels like I was descending into an ice box with a soaking wet tee shirt on. “Man, 100 degrees never felt so cool” I told my “Non-Union Master Electrician”.

“Well bowa you did good, git yourself a little water hear” he said. “We’a needing to git going on to the next job.”

Still in her morning bath robe the lady of the house smiled, revealingly waved good-bye, and shouted “I’ll give ya a call if I have any problems!”

My “Non-Union Master Electrician” got a big grin on his face. “Yeees Maame, anytime day or night!!!” And we headed for the next job.

Had our lunch under a tree and I drank a lot of water; didn’t expect the next job to be by the river or lake. Arrived at an older house, looked around just in case there was a lake or something. “Nope, no lake and it’s a lot hotter this afternoon, I wonder what the first signs of heat stoke are?” I pondered thinking about another fishing trip to the attic.

My “Non-Union Master Electrician” tells me to get all the fishing gear out and that this would be a lot easier. After I had everything that I thought I needed he yells to me back at the pickup truck “Bowa, git that there hoa in the back there.”

“Hoe? What do I need a hoe for?

My “Non-Union Master Electrician” enlightens me. “Bowa, see this here house has a crawl space under the floor. It’s a lot easier to run yor whar under the house, and a lot cooler. That’s why we’re a doing it in the heat of the day. I always try to look after ma hepers. The only thing, ya need to keep a keen eye out fer oil them little critters that also like the cool. If ya see a snake jest use the hoe to shu it off, or kell it. Oh yeh, watch out for them black widder spiders. Let git a going.”

We walked up to the door and my “Non-Union Master Electrician” rings the bell. We waited, no answer, rang again, and waited; finally hear “I’ma coming, hold yer horses”. The lady of the house opens the door dressed in her itsy-bitsy-teeny-weenie bikini, she apparently was out back sunning herself. We checked the layout and I then headed for the underground. My “Non-Union Master Electrician” headed to the back yard to further discuss the installation.

I never liked caves, or spiders, or especially snakes. “Why didn’t I just go to summer school this summer” I was thinking while dragging all my electrical equipment, my flash light and hoe as I belly crawled to the fishing location. “YIKES!! WHAT’S THAT MOVING OVER THERE??” Grabbing my hoe and assuming some kind of defensive position laying on my stomach, I peared into the darkness straining to see what it was that was moving. What ever it was, apparently it had slithered away. “Maybe just a lizard” I hopefully thought. Swatting the spider webs out of my face I proceeded to the fishing location.

As I finally got to my fishing location. “Boss I’m here, I’m gona drill my hole “ I yelled laying on my back with the drill set to start the penetraton.

“Ok, Ok, I’ll be rawit there, just a minute.” He breaks off his discussion in the back yard and heads into the house. “OK, dreill you a hole tween these here walls. AND BOWA DON’T screw up and drill into the floor!!! Thein push up the fishen whar to me, I’ll tie on the whar and you pull er down. Thein carry the end of the whar to the side of the house out by the back yard, I’ll wait fer ya thar.”

I am lying on my back on the ground ready to drill. Check the location looks OK. All right pull the trigger to start the drilling. Immediately I levitate off the ground, my hands grip the drill, I can’t let go, I am just shaking. Finally after what seemed like a lifetime the drill falls from my hand, I fall back to the ground and the shaking stops. “What the hell is going on here!!! A big shock. Whoa that was scarry.” This of course was back in the days when every plug only had two barbs, no ground wire. I was the ground and was lucky I didn’t get killed. “BOSS, boss” I yelled “I just got a big shock down here from the drill!!”

“BOWA YOU OK?” He yelled down.

“Yeah”

“Ok bowa, come on out of there”

“Great he’s gona go down under there and drill the hole, I can get the heck outa here.” I thought. Wrong!

As I returned to sunlight he just told me “Yeah bowa, you gotta be reeel careful under them houses with electricity. Git back to the pickup and git one on those 2x10’s. Lay on et and yeh oughta be fine. Oh, and try to find a dry spot to dreil from.”

“Sho nuff, Boss knows.” I drill my hole, pull my wire, carry my flashlight and hoe to side of the house where the outside electrical panel was located. As I got closer I could hear voices and laughing in the back yard. I yelled to my “Non-Union Master Electrician” that I was ready to give him the wire.

“Ok, Ok, bowa, lea me jest finish rubbing this here sun tan oil on the Misses back”. So a few minutes later I hand him the wires and start hauling all my stuff from under the house. After loading all my gear I head to the back yard to see how he was doing. He was doing just fine on all points, electrical business wrapping up and monkey business wrapping up.

Still in her itsy-bitsy-teeny-weenie bikini, albeit a bit more on the pinkish side than earlier, the lady of the house smiled, revealingly waved good bye, and shouted “I’ll give ya a call if I have any problems!”

My “Non-Union Master Electrician” got his by now usual big grin on his face. “Yeees Maame, anytime day or night!!!” And we headed for shop – closing time.

Actually fishing wire wasn’t the only thing I ended up doing for the next two and a half summers, we did all kinds of residential work. So I generally feel pretty good about working with household electricity. But the point of this story is that what we have here in Russia is not exactly the same, not even close. While here I don’t have to deal with heat stroke and the most dangerous critter I might encounter is a “dust bunny” not snakes, spiders and the such there are other challenging problems.

As we were putting the light up I noticed that all the electrical wiring here appears to be aluminum, which we did use a little back in 1964 before it was banned in America. Too dangerous, causes fires. My only thought was “well this building is concrete, the wiring is all encased in concrete, so what kind of fire could it cause, not gonna worry about it. The lights work, no sparks jumping and blowing of circuit breakers, normal for Russia production.” I suspect even my old “Non-Union Master Electrician” boss would be proud of the work I did.

Coming down from the ladder to admire the new fixture, however I didn’t notice an expression of joy on Irina’s face. “What do you think Irichka?”

“I don’t know Potrick, it looks a little big for this room and the 5 bulbs put out sooo much light. Maybe we could try it in the living room and replace that very, very old lamp there.” So much for our concern about those little light bulbs, the room was as bright as a tanning booth!

So, dutifully I climb back up the ladder, remove the fixture in the bedroom, then do the same with the very, very old fixture in the living room and re-install the new light in the living room. Again, “Potrick, I don’t know, it looks so small here in the living room, we will see.”

While Irnia was evaluating whether the new light fixture was OK, I finally got to return to the original problem we were trying to solve. Do you remember? The simple task of replacing the toilet paper holder.

I had hoped that I would be able to use the holes that were there for the old Soviet Standard holder, but New Russia in rejecting its past and moving into the capitalist world rejected the old standards of yesterday and the holes needed for our New Russian toilet paper holder didn’t even come close. Best I could do is hope to cover them up with the base of the new toilet paper holder. I unpacked the new toilet paper holder looking for the installation instructions and a template to tell me where to drill the holes. The only thing that fell out of the package were 4 big, long screws, wall anchors, and the attachment hardware. “Ummm, I suppose I will just have to eye-ball it, no template, no instructions”.

Actually I didn’t expect to find any instructions, any Russian would be embarrassed for life if he was caught looking at the instructions on how to put something together. They all know better than the instructions could ever explain. I have actually witnessed two adult Russians struggling for hours trying to assemble a baby bed. And when I suggested looking at the instructions for a little help was at first rudely ignored and when I persisted, was told they knew what they were doing. Maybe there was a breakdown in the translations, but in any event it got late and Irina and I had to wish them “good luck” as we left. We said “we will be looking forward to seeing how the crib looks when it is assembled”. How long they continued we do not know. Maybe after we left they snuck a look at the instructions since there was no there who would actually see them using instructions.

So on with step one. Drill the first hole for the attachment hardware. I could hardly wait! I finally would get a chance to use my new tool! The perforator! “What is a perforator”, you may ask, I did the first time I heard about them. Well it looks just like any other normal looking drill, the general shape is the same, but then you notice how big this drill is; it’s big, real big, it looks like a normal drill on steroids! After all we’re not drilling wood or sheetrock here, we’re drilling concrete! Every wall, every floor, every ceiling in old Soviet Standard Russian apartments is concrete. A man needs a big drill with guts! And the guts of the perforator comes from not just turning the bit, but turning and banging the bit into the concrete, it’s actually a miniature jack hammer.

So I look into my perforator case for the bit. “Umm, the bit I need is only a normal drill bit, not a perforator bit. Dang! Oh well I’ll try it.” Fifteen minutes later I had a hole that was less than ½ an inch deep and I needed 4 holes about 1 1/2 inches deep. “This is just not going to work, will take too long. These screws are so big! My visa will expire before I get these holes drilled.” And I put my new toy, the perforator down.

Suddenly it strikes me. “How big are these screws anyway? How thick is the wall?” Got my centimeter measuring tape out and measured, “Hummm, the screws are 4 centimeters long, how wide is this concreted wall?” Got the kitchen chair, stood on it and measured the thickness of the wall (we have a hole at the top of the toilet rooms wall for venting). Bad news the Soviet Standard toilet wall was only 4 centimeters wide and the screws are 4 centimeters long! “How could these guys sell a Russian Toilet holder with screws that would go through the Soviet Standard Toilet wall? Typical Russian production! Irina! Irina! I need new stuff to finish the toilet paper holder job, we will need to go to the store tomorrow.” Tools put away, mess cleaned up thought I might have a vodka, the work day was over.

In the mean time while I was working on the toilet paper holder installation Irina was pondering the new light fixture. “Potrick, I don’t like, it’s just too small for the living room. We must take it back.”

“OK, dear. I agree, and the old one is quite interesting even if it is 25 years old, I like it better. We’ll look some more for the bedroom. OH, by the way, I need more stuff to finish the toilet roll holder.”

One of the pieces of the New Russian capitalist retail system that has been slow to come is the “no-hassle return” concept. It is never easy and only a few places offer to take returns. But Irina said we could do it. So I carefully repack everything, tape up the box and we trundle off to the store. The store of course is about a long, long walk so we wait on the trolley, which after standing in the cold blowing wind finally arrives. As we get to the store and walk in we are immediately ushered to Security. We are third in line so I’m thinking this won’t take long – wrong. The security guy has to check off each item being returned against the receipt, mark it, and do other stuff that I didn’t understand. Of course the guy in front of us looked like he was returning his whole project, his cart was full of items to be returned. I could see it was going to be a morning spent at the security checker. So I told Irina I would go ahead and see if I could find what I needed. At some point, finally, without even having to take his gun out of its holster, his job was done and he allowed Irina to enter the store and proceed to the return counter.

I headed to the screw section in search for a simple “flat head” screw shorter than the width of our wall. And it didn’t need to meet the old “CCCP – Nuclear Bomb Survival Rating”. One thing that I have noticed in Russia is that so many things appear to be “over built”. Maybe everything was bigger and stronger than it needed to be for a purpose. Maybe Russians had some secret system where they rated everything on its ability to continue working in the event those rascally Americans nuked them. No doubt a working toilet paper holder would be on the top of the list of things one would want to survive “the big one”. So it better stay attached to the wall at all costs.

Where an American might use a ¼ inch bolt the Russians use a 1 inch bolt to hold something. Like our sleeper couch with a 1 inch bolt for the mechanism to pull out the bed; that bolt would never break. But of course they forgot to engineer in a way to keep the nut on the bolt. So after a while the nut falls of it’s 1 inch bold, system fails, sleeper couch no longer works. Normalnie!

Once I got to the screw section, I found hundreds of thick, big, long, oversized ones. But a simple little flathead was not in their inventory. Dejected, I headed back to the return counter to see how Irina was progressing. I found her at the end of another line.

“Potrick, Potrick! We have a problem.”

“Oh, no.” I thought, “They probably won’t accept the light back because we opened the box.” I had a sinking feeling that the tanning booth like light was going to be a permanent fixture in our bedroom. “Oh, well in winters we will be able to easily see everything and a little tan wouldn’t be bad.”

“Potrick, I don’t have my passport!” Irina cried in despair.

“Always, I mean Always, carry your documents!” I thought. “One never knows when one will need to produce them.” I could already see another trip to the store, the security line, the long return line: it was spoiling my mood. But then the unexpected happened. The older guy in front of Irina, took pity. He said she could put her return on his passport. I was getting a little confused with all these rules and ways to get around them, but I hoped it worked. I had no interest in returning to the store to return the light again. But it worked out and the guy restored my faith in Russians. We got our money and headed for the next store to look for a simple little flat head screw.

Walking home I remembered the “Mom & Pop” store had some kind of homemade display boards with hundreds of screws glued to them. You just pointed to the screw you wanted, get your little order paper, walk over to the Kassa (the pay booth), wait in line, pay, get a receipt, bring the receipt back to the counter where you saw the item, wait for the clerk to finish what ever she is now doing, give her the receipt and she cheerfully gives you what you wanted to buy 20 minutes earlier. One of the guys there even spoke English. “We’ll stop there, I am sure they will have what I want” I told Irina. Irina was tired and cold, but reluctantly agreed.

Unfortunately “flat head” screws were not to be found on the display boards. They had every kind and size of wood screw, which the lady tried to convince me would work. “Yeah I thought it would work just as well as the 1 inch bolt holding the couch together.” I thought. “Thank you, no we won’t buy.” And left for home, no toiler paper holder today, it was getting too late.

Another day another hike to another store in search of the holy grail of screws – the “flathead”. We leave early, about noon, hoping this will be the day. Get to the door and pull the handle – nothing happens. We look at each other a little confused. Try the other door, same result. “What’s going on here? They are closed.” My first thought is that they are going out of business because of the crisis. Another Russian tries the doors, probably thinking I didn’t know how to open a door. Same result, but she goes on to the door around the corner. Again same result, all doors are locked and she just stalks off grumbling something untranslatable. Then I ask “ Irina, isn’t this Victory Week, they are probably closed for the holiday”. Now our project is on hold for the next 3 days. I am kinda getting used to pulling the toilet paper off of the roller as it sits halfway down the mop handle, maybe we don’t need this new one.

Four days later, all the holidays are over for a few weeks, the store is open. Proceeding directly to the screw aisle I see “flat head” screws. “YES, Russians do know what a “flat head” screw is!! OK where is the size I want? Nope too long, no too short, too thick, oh no! I don’t see the size I need, I can’t believe this, every size but the one I want! Someone is punishing us for wanting to replace that old Soviet Standard toilet paper holder.” I collect my senses, “get a grip, settle down, lets see if something will work.” I start analyzing the alternatives and finally select a smaller screw than what I had really wanted. As I walked home I started thinking “what if the head is too small and I need some kind of washers to make it work, where will I find them? Maybe it’s too thin and the toilet paper holder will fall off the wall, or worse yet what if a large guest’s leg hits the holder while leaving the toilet room and knocks the holder off the wall!!! STOP! It’s OK, relax its Russia, it will work, I’ll just make it work one way or another.”

“OK, Lets get this job done!” Insert my new perforator drill bit, fire up the perforator and WhamO the hole is done in about 3 seconds. As the old “Non-Union Master Electrician” used to say “Boa, yeh gotta have the rite tools!”. Don’t have no template, don’t need no template just guess and go. 10 minutes later the job is finished and our shiny new chrome plated Russian Production spring loaded toilet paper roll holder is operational! “Irina, Irina come look!”