Happy Towel Day

The date of May twenty-fifth as you most likely are aware, is Towel Day. This author was in fact so immersed in his own Towel Day festivities that he completely missed the deadline and ended up posting this story a day late. But this simple act of sloth in its own way pays homage to the inspiration for whom the very day was named, Douglas Adams, a notoriously tardy penman. In keeping the true spirit of this memoriam to our favorite sci-fi humorist, philanthropist, and oddly prescient technologist alive and well, the management here at the Bunker has brought it upon themselves to add this addendum to the growing compendium of towel-centric knowledge.

Everyone wants to bury their head into a soft, warm wrap after scrubbing up, even as a guest in someone else's crapper. The worst is seeing just a single used bath towel at your disposal. At least with no towels you can broach the subject with the lady or gent of the house. But seeing just that single threadbare body towel dripping on the shower rod is a no win situation. No one wants a deep dry from some dampened rag used moments earlier on the host's crotch following his pre-party schvitz. Is that short, curly hair on your freshly rinsed cheek yours? You struggle to remember old 60 Minutes studies about which germs lived on which surface and for how many minutes. Or was it days? Thus begat our concept of the ideal towel.

One end would simply read “HEAD” in boldface. The kind of boldface that says it's not kidding. The other side would naturally read “ASS” in the same cautionary font. Keeps everything nice and straight before use. Know the terms. That's something that can instill confidence in a man to scrub down more often.

But then who's our host? The type to play a cute little gag on his unwitting guests? Maybe our roommate here has been using the presumed high ground of HEAD as a bidet sponge this past week, gleefully, often brutally violating its sanctity for his own cruel laughs at your unknowing expense? The HEAD end of this towel smells funny. Sufficed to say an entirely new kind of math comes into play if your host is a member of the desired sex, and is how everyone would soon come to describe as, “towel-sniffable”. A bad SNL skit if I ever heard one.

Despite their many obvious and critical uses, quality towels remain sadly underrated in this society. I've sometimes wondered if their low priority could very well be at the heart of many of the world's problems, like our dear departed Dougie Adams preached. All due respect, naturally. Little do I want to be known as the cretin who first posthumously referred to the man as “Dougie”, like some distant aunt that always sent him a fresh set of pajamas each Yuletide. More the admiring fan who did same.

They've tried everything else to solve our ills, and look at the potholes and dictators still laughing in our faces each day. Why not blow a few billion of the mystical bailout bucks on some fresh new towels for the masses? Don't forget to weave them of some sturdy old Dixie cotton. I can feel the wave of clean faces and souls already.

RIP, Douglas N. Adams
1952-2001