More standards and measures

Let's start this one with toilets. A great place to think and ponder life's mysteries, engaged as you are in one of the most primal and basic of activities. I also keep my Polish/English dictionary in the bathroom: I figure I can learn a few words a day this way, since I'm there already and my hands are free. And here's what I've noticed in there: toilet paper holders. The American standard is that nifty spring-loaded telescoping rod wedged into recessed holes in the sides of the holder, at least household ones are. Here, the standard is for a small diameter rod, kind of bracket-shaped, or maybe more like a digital watch's zero with one side missing and sideways. Anyway, it's open at the side, you slide the roll onto the rod, and often there's a sort of lid thingy attached that covers the top half of the roll. The problem I have is that my lid thingy is broken and I can't put it on the holder, so when I go to tear off a few squares, sometimes the entire roll comes off the rod, especially as it gets closer to the end, and thus is very light. Which is a very irritating thing to have happen when you're in such a vulnerable position and there's little you can do but tear off what you need while the rest of the roll dissolves in the one spot of water from your shower. And so I wonder, who designed these open-ended holders and why did everyone else think it was a good idea? Am I the only one who has this problem? Am I just deficient in a style of toilet-paper-ripping that Polish people learn in childhood? I don't know.
But then I went to Ukraine and this whole issue got a new dimension for me. Because, you see, in Poland, the rolls themselves are the same as what I'm used to, but in Lwow, they were missing the interior cardboard tube. They just roll up the paper into one solid, center-hole-less cylinder. Which of course means you have to have entirely different holders. What I found were little shelves, slightly curved and low-sided, and infinitely easier to accidentally drop the roll from. And this also made me remember a few bathrooms in the U.K. where they didn't have rolls at all, but instead folded sheets tucked into what seemed like napkin dispensers screwed upside down into the wall. Is it any wonder that we can't settle international issues and disputes when the world can't even agree on the way to wipe our asses? Ok, I'm reaching there, but still.
Toilets also tend to have flush buttons on top of the tank. Haven't seen a single front-of-the-tank lever-flusher. Sometimes it's a pull-knobby-thing, but always in the center of the top. I know they sell lawnmowers, but the only machine I've seen used to cut grass is a weed-whacker. Big ones, but when you see a guy in a big park or along a highway cutting grass with one of those, you get the idea that this is almost deliberately Sisyphean.
Locks always need the key to be turned twice. Ice-cube trays were really hard to find: didn't know that most people use these plastic bag things. Sofa-beds are common, but that's a space issue, and entirely reasonable. However, I know that many people have vacuum cleaners, and yet carpet-beating is still popular. One of my first mornings in Poland I was woken at 7 a.m. by a rhythmic thwunking noise, almost like gunshots, but a little duller and flatter. Disoriented and confused, especially since it was 15 below zero Celsius and I couldn't imagine what or who could possibly be making such a sound so early in the morning outside in such weather, I stumbled to the window, where I saw a very old woman vigorously beating the bejeezus out of a carpet. They have carpet beating poles all over for this purpose, though I have since learned it's traditionally the man's job. My feeling is, if the dirt is so ground in that a vacuum won't get it, then it ain't a problem. Fortunately, I don't have any carpets in my current place.
The last thing is, this is not a handicapped-accessible country. Didn't think too much about it for awhile, having two good legs and all, but as I was walking to work a few days ago, a man stopped me on Malachowskiego. I took him for a nurse, but he may have been a relative of the very old man in a wheelchair who was with him. It was outside an apartment building, and he wanted me to help lift the chair and the man up some steps. Six steps. Low steps. Of course I did it, but I couldn't help but wonder how long they had been there, and how often they had to rely on the kindness of strangers to get in and out of the building. A simple ramp, common enough on public stairs, would do so much for their quality of life, not to mention dignity. And here I am ranting about toilet paper rolls.