The Gym Is Awkward
So everyone has those awkward change-room moments, I will share one with you.
I like the sauna, I think it’s nice, but for the most part if there are naked, sweaty dudes in there I stay far away.
There is always that one guy at the gym that chats everyone up, and he officially turned me off the sauna when I walked in and he was spread-eagle across the bench, his arm bent holding up his head. Oh, and his wang was in full view.
I’m not saying I’m looking, but dude, come on, right in front of the door. So weird. Full view, like he was presenting it.
I never enter the sauna now with other people in it.
The other day I peeked in and nobody was present, success; this was my chance.
I opened the door, took a seat and begin to sweat out my greasy man-juices.
Soaking in my sauce, another guy walks in. He looks like he is in his late twenties, normal enough, but I haven’t seen him around much and is probably a newbie. There is no conversation.
I think a lot about these things, awkward moments, conversations that go nowhere. I’m fine with them. I can have a million awkward moments with every student, everyday, and I will just chuckle and walk away. Maybe even write about them later.
Late twenties guy can’t handle the silence. I can tell. He is waiting for me to say something even though we are both aren’t looking at each other, just the shitty tile floor.
“Are you opposed to heat?” he asks.
What the fuck kind of question is that? I’m sitting in a fucking sauna, are you stupid?
I’m polite in-person, but my douche-baggery is saved for thinking and writing.
“I’m not going to be in here for long,” I reply.
I didn’t answer the question, and at school we were taught that if you ask a question and you don’t have it answered, ask it again.
So if I was in his position, in a towel, asking another man that looks like a zombie; if this zombie-man was opposed to heat, and didn’t get the right answer, I’d be more demanding the second time.
Clearly, he isn’t much of a writer.
He stands up, grabs the water bottle next to him and begins to pour it’s contents over the rocks.
My eyebrows raise.
This is a goddamn electric sauna, those rocks are for decoration, we aren’t at a flipping mountain spa with hot rocks, the only thing that is making this sauna warm is the electric elements beneath those rocks.
What is more impressive is the clearly labeled sign above the rocks that reads, “please do not pour water on the rocks.”
The best moment of this experience was that I had full chance to tell him not to stop, I saw out of the corner of my eye reaching for the bottle, saw him get up, and knew full well what he was about to do.
Yet I just continued looking at the tile floor.
My logic is that if this man is going to burn down the gym, I want to see it happen. I want to be the eye-witness that is quoted in the Georgetown Independent about why this gym burnt down. I would laugh and put it in my portfolio, and when someone asks about it, I will tell them this story.
The water flows down the rocks into the steal box and then spills on the floor beneath it. No fire, no sparks, complete disappointment. He didn’t break anything.
Late twenties sits back down, satisfied for making this mess. I get up, and leave.
Why the fuck are those rock decorations even there if people are just going to put water on them? We aren’t in a movie, this is chilly little Halton Hills.
And so, I welcome you to my mind, how I think.
It is a terrible, awful, evil place.