The difficulties of Decision-Making, part. 2

The roll of toilet paper fell onto the floor and unfurled itself slightly as it came to a rest underneath the little table next to the shower.  I looked at the roll with mild interest.  I was preoccupied with pooping, also with reading the local independent newspaper.  The article was about sustainable beef; I laughed a little bit when I read the title, and imagined cows consuming massive amounts of corn.  Cows don't need or use toilet paper, they shit on the ground.  The roll sat there on the cool cement floor, just barely in view, looking at me with half of a black eye where the tube was cut off by the ledge of the little table.  There was barely any toilet paper left in the apartment, except for that one runaway roll; would anyone realize that it was there?  Or would they be stuck on an island, no water, no food, and no one to talk to?  I imagined them petitioning the cat for toilet paper as he stuck his paw under the bathroom door, waiting to be fed.  I could just pick the toilet paper roll up, place it on the table in plain view, so there would be no unpleasant pooping experiences at someone else's expense.  What should I have done?  Extend my foresight to another future, offer graciousness in the face of apathy, expend my energy for the benefit of others?  This sounded like some sort of mandatory charity, an act that is almost a requirement mandated by all of society, so that no person should ever have to be stuck on a toilet somewhere without the tools to complete the job.  I felt like Ghandi, or Nelson Mandela, or maybe their bastard rebel child, if they were to somehow have conceived.  Was Ghandi ever faced with such a predicament?  Was it so easy for him to decide, was it mindless, was it obvious?  Why is everything so difficult, how does one be decisive?  The toilet paper didn't care.  He sat there and thought about the bright green bottle of shampoo that was lying on the floor of the bathtub, like some rejected character from that board game where everyone murders everyone else with blunt-force objects.  I suddenly had a revelation; despite my own inner turmoil over this decision, it could never be worse than the decision you are faced with when stuck on the throne without your scroll.  That decision presents a multitude of options, all of them awkward and all of them physically uncomfortable.  Someone else's  towel, an old dried up sponge crusted with Comet, used tissues from the garbage can, a sock, a shower, the journey to another part of the apartment, pants around the ankles and legs stuck together in an ultimate shame that makes others look upon you as if you have hit rock bottom.  This is much worse, I decided, this decision that must be made in a time of extreme crisis.  I thought, for the first time in a while, about how another person might feel in a certain hypothetical situation.  Is this what empathy is?  Or is this a prediction of empathy?  Was I a visionary?  I did not know the answers to any of these questions, but I made the call.  I picked up the roll of tissue, wound it neatly around itself, and sat it on the little table next to the shower, and went back to my article on sustainable beef, hoping that I made the right decision.