A tirade about Oates and Poop

There’s a humble invention in this world that serves a very noble purpose. Today that invention inflicted a cruel injustice upon me.

There’s a sense of betrayal lingering in my mind, I was betrayed by corporate greed and uncaring bean counters who obviously felt a dab of glue would stretch the supply chain costs beyond acceptable margins, a dab too far into the profit machine that is Oates.


I introduce to you the object of my ire, a shiny stainless steel wrapped tool, a tool my friends, thats sole purpose is to allow those of us who clean the dignity of keeping our hands away from the inner workings of the vessel in which we (and anyone who uses our bathrooms) poop.

Today this tool tore my dignity asunder as the head, like a bristly hedgehog if cleanliness calmly unwound from its shackles – or as it turns our poorly fitting screw in handle – and tried to scurry round that pesky S-bend towards the probably gator and piraƱa infested mystery that is the Canberra sewer system.


Dear reader I swallowed my pride and a cup of concrete, reached down and chased that while bristly beast, snagging it from the porcelain confines and restrained it once more.

I have done the unthinkable, the horror of realisation that I reached into a toilet, down into the that abyss where poop swims into a distant memory, not to save an iPhone, not save a Kitten, but to save a brush. Either I’m a great humanitarian or a fool, or maybe just a 39 year old dude who had to shove his hand down a toilet because somewhere someone decided a dab adhesive of would be the difference between profit and the total loss of consumer faith in their products ability to keep the place of pooping at a safe distance.

People of Oates, I salute your ability to be uncaring and cruel.