In case you were wondering, toothpaste, or what we recognize as toothpaste, was first invented by Washington Sheffield in 1892. Various other tooth-cleaning agents had been used before then, including but not limited to crushed bone, salt, charcoal and pulverized brick.
I begin with discussing toothpaste because I recently completed the obligatory start-of-term run to CVS. Not having to move every term is wonderful, because I can come back to a room that is well stocked with essentials like shampoo, lotion and deodorant. Long ago, I discovered that the physical labor required to pack, store and transport half-full toiletries wasn’t worth it. Plus, the shampoo could possibly explode, leaving me with sheets scented like passion fruit and mango for all eternity. But this year, I was lucky enough to return to a full medicine cabinet -— by which I mean a plastic box that lives under my bed. All that was missing was toothpaste.
Rush is over, and so is “The Great Rush Scandal That Wasn’t.” I am old, this is my fifth rush and by this point my mentality is, “Yo, I think you’re cool. If you think I’m cool, let’s be sisters, but if you don’t, that’s fine, too. Let’s just not be weird about it.” I can manage to come up with searing, insightful social commentary — regarding rush or any other topic — only about twice a term, so I’m saving mine up for the Oscars and the Winter Olympics. Hats off to those who have the stamina to offer social commentary every week — your talents far surpass mine. Considering the state of my mental faculties, at this point meditating on dental hygiene products would be far more interesting.
The Great Toothpaste Quest of 2014 began with a visit to CVS, which somehow lies on the very outskirts of Hanover, even though it may be the store most visited by students. And by outskirts, of course I mean the third block from Wheelock Street. I know Topside is closer, but now that my $50 of Topside money is gone, I see no need to go there and pay too much for something or find out it’s out of stock. Another sign of my age — I still remember when it was Topside.
I made it to CVS, and for the first time, I noticed the sheer number of possible toothpaste options. I stood before the toothpaste display like Proust with his madeleines. Is this why we fought the Cold War? To ensure the survival of capitalism so that Dartmouth students, even when banished to the frigid wastes of New Hampshire, would have an unlimited number of toothpastes to choose from? Are different brands of toothpaste really that different? Is sodium lauryl sulfate that bad for you? How much money was spent on researching and designing and marketing all these different toothpaste brands, and could that money be better spent elsewhere? How many poor souls are trapped in cubicles in Proctor and Gamble or Johnson and Johnson, working on these different brands of toothpaste and wishing they could become environmentalists or bring clean water to Africa? So many thoughts summoned by toothpaste.
Had I studied economics, I could probably explain elasticities of demand, supply-side economics or what have you. I haven’t. I was left not so much marveling at advanced economic theory as I was sad and mildly irritated. The cornucopia of toothpaste made it impossible to find the one kind I like. And then they only had the orange-and-silver Aquafresh tube, which is somehow different than the green-and white Aquafresh tube, which, for some reason, I like better.
But I like my teeth, and I lack the time and inclination to create my own organic all-natural substitute, so I bought the subpar toothpaste. As Dartmouth students, we are nothing if not resourceful — when faced with less-than-desirable options, we simply make do. I have made macaroni and cheese for 20 using nothing but a screwdriver, pot, pan, butter knife and coffee mug. Everyone has figured out that duct tape can be used to mend anything, from laundry hampers to onesies.
I lack a vehicle, and even if I had one, I probably wouldn’t use it because I learned to drive in Los Angeles. Five lanes of traffic bumper to bumper on the 405? No problem. Two inches of snow? Major difficulties. So, in my life, if it’s not purchasable at CVS, it’s pretty much unobtainable, unless you want to order it online and wait a week.
Though I am completed devoted to Hanover’s CVS, I have to put my foot down when it comes to the toothpaste issue. In my post-capitalist socialist liberal democracy (in case it’s not obvious, I haven’t taken any government either), the only toothpaste available would be green-and-white tubes of Aquafresh and maybe that sparkly bubblegum flavored Crest that I used when I was little. Resources spent developing all the other types could be diverted to education and the construction of cost-effective solar panels.
