Seeing the bare ass of a man in his mid-30’s is not how I wanted to start my gym session but that’s exactly what happened.
It was around 11 p.m. when I walked into what I believed to be an empty gym. I had just gotten off work and there wasn’t a soul around, or so I thought. Not that I planned on doing anything devious when I knew there’d be no witnesses. But if given the option, I’d prefer complete isolation over having to share a communal space with someone else, lest they try and engage in small talk or inadvertently show me their moneymaker.
My gym doesn’t have locker rooms. Just two bathrooms and two shower rooms. It’s a small inconvenience as I have to shove everything in the sink to change clothes, but it’s a small price to pay to avoid seeing old, naked men just peruse through a larger locker room.
Male locker rooms are disgusting. They’re like a gas station bathroom but with more floor space and a stronger smell. They smell like someone lit 50 Yankee Candles whose scent was “ripe crotch.” The smell is abhorrent and inescapable. Thankfully, the heat and humidity make the smell tangible enough to enter your mouth and eyeballs.
The locker room etiquette is equally as offensive. Men treat the gym locker room like an embassy for their home.
The only rule is there are no rules. Just walk around like a bear in the forest; naked and completely unaware that 10 other guys are watching you from afar, frightened of what you might do next.
Oh, god. He’s shaving in the sink. He’s just leaving the hair in there. Now he’s powdering himself with one leg up on the sink. For God’s sake, someone tranquilize him!
There is no exaggeration. I have seen guys shave, powder and even fire snot rockets into the sink and I fully endorse tranquilizing them and releasing them to the sewers.
As I walked from the front door of my gym, I put my headphones on and started playing music. I made my way down the path between the workout machines, all empty. I looked to my right to see if anyone had been in the free weight station. Not a soul.
Then, I opened the first bathroom door, which was unlocked. There it was — a stranger’s ass.
“Oh Jesus,” I said. I speak louder when I have my headphones on, so I probably gave this guy a heart attack as he hopped on one leg. He muffled something, but I couldn’t hear it. I just kept instinctively repeating, “Jesus, sorry. JESUS! Sorry.”
I considered working out in my work attire to avoid a second run-in with this idiot who doesn’t know how to lock a bathroom door. Or he was probably another bumbling oof who thought there was no need to lock the door as he was the only person in the gym at 11 p.m.