July 5, 2017 by thewashingteenian
By Spencer Thomas, Staff Reporter
It is a truth universally acknowledged, dear reader, that one would be hard pressed as to find anyone that could be said to have a “lint problem.” Yet humanity still possesses among its extensive repertoire of inventions a little device commonly known as a lint roller. Its seemingly uni-tasking nature, as evidenced by its name, could be easily overlooked among such devices as those whose only purpose is to assist in the perfect slicing of a kiwi fruit.
As mentioned and in this writer’s experience, people possess a remarkable tendency not to have an excess of lint on their person. What one might have is fuzz, pet fur, crumbs, or even the occasional stubborn string, all of which can be easily done away with by the lint roller. Amazing and convenient, to be certain. But where is the lint? Possibly trapped in the dryer lint catcher. At least that gets to do its intended job. Sometimes it does its job too well and it does not ever want to let go. It refuses to let the lint out of its clutches, inadvertently causing a fire hazard that might bring about its premature demise, a demise that might not be covered by the extended warranty.
And then there is the infamous pocket lint: the stuff that the lint catcher cannot get to, and thus cannot consume. Not a big deal, since it remains hidden from judging eyes most of the time. Even if one is worried about their unwanted secret stash of lint being discovered, most pockets are not big enough to warrant a lint brush fitting inside, rendering its application useless. Large enough pockets of course do exist, yet they are an anomaly almost as rare as an influx of lint itself in some circles. Where is the justice? Nowhere to be found. It is just another problem for another time, unfortunately.
Back on the issue of pocket lint, one of the best solutions, relevant regardless of the size
of one’s pockets, would be to simply turn one’s pockets inside out. Or, if that is not an option, just to turn the entire article upside down and shake it vigorously. One must be careful where they do this, however, for the lint may fall right on the clean floor, then leaving no other option than to look at the mess one has just made and to eventually sweep it up. Tragic.
The time has come, this writer feels, to address the general inefficiency of the lint roller itself. Just think how many sheets one needs just to clean off a single garment. Two. Three. Four. Possibly more. Each picking off only a tiny fragment of the debris. It is positively wasteful! Indeed, there are most likely numerous other uses for the lint roller. Much untapped potential just waiting to be discovered. There are things it might even be better at than what it was designed for. Emergency sticky tape, perhaps. Paper on which to write an impromptu list. One could take it to a beach or desert and run it across the ground. Suddenly there would be sandpaper. Sandpaper where there had not been before, in reaction to which one might even have the might to remark “What a turn of events” or some similar exclamation of delight.
Still, the name lint roller caught on for popular use. There were people dying, but still, long ago, the people that had it in the first place only cared about their lint. This writer too cares about lint. Where did it go? Will the lint plague strike again? Is the holder of such secrets just preparing us for the inevitable apocalypse with every lint roller sold? These are the questions, dear reader, one should ponder until the last piece of lint falls through the hourglass of life.