Except for running into Loogie Man at Trader Joe's shortly after his, uh, doNAtion to the pool water at the gym last week (see last post), things have been pretty quiet there. I only see most people once as they do their one-day-a-week workout or they choose a different time and we never cross paths again. The time I've settled on seems to be a slow one at the pool which is, of course, why I chose it.
Today was no exception. It was PERFECT.
When I walked in, the water was still with not one person in sight. I had the pick of the lanes. I chose the double lane (wide enough for two people) because it gives me the best view out the tall windows and as I do my side-stroke laps I can watch the tops of the trees swaying in the wind. It makes my exercise more meditative. And there I was, meditating away, when I turned to see Count Dracula in my lane, three feet away.
He was older and balding and spoke in a very thick accent - a straight from Transylvania accent.
"May I SHARE your LANE vis YOU?" he inquired through furrowed brows and two very prominent eye teeth (read fangs) with no teeth between to bridge them from one to the other.
"Uh," I replied deftly. "The whole pool is open and you can take any lane," I offered helpfully. He looked around but didn't move and I got the direct impression he wanted to be close to me. So I offered to move....and I did. He looked too motivated as he assessed me and fat people and pregnant women have more blood flowing through their veins. I was a veritable Thanksgiving dinner. He looked so disappointed while my liver and I swam away. He probably had some fava beans and a nice Chianti under his towel.
Then in the locker room, I came out of the shower with my too-small-towel and too-much-acreage only to be confronted by an oblivious woman with her five or six-year-old son by her side. She was much too engaged in her phone conversation to pay attention to him, but I wasn't. I was in a TOWEL, and only SORT of.
"Excuse me, but, we are DRESSING and UNDRESSING in here."
"Oh," she replied vacantly. "I'll move over here," which was nowhere near where naked women would not be.
This wasn't a restroom situation where we've all taken our little boys because they were too young to leave alone, outside. The restroom at least has partitions. Our gym provides CHILD CARE - 30 feet away. The little victim of Idiot Woman walked around the locker room singing songs while flanked by perfect strangers in various states of undress around him. I could hear him with his mother around the corner - him singing, her relaying some inane gossip, phone glued to her ear - and I got dressed in a herky-jerky fashion with layers of white towels draped over me thickly and haphazardly as if some demented surgeon were currently performing an operation on me, and I was assisting.
As soon as every article of clothing I owned was slopped back on to me, I marched to the front desk.
"Excuse me, but we have a NOT cool situation in the women's locker room," I announced intensely. They stared at me wide-eyed as I described the problem. "Would you let a dad walk in the MEN'S locker room with his six-year-old DAUGHTER in tow?" The male factor of the three attendants looked horrified. "Exactly," I replied. They promised to take care of it. I think it was the eye-level factor of a child this age that suddenly broke through the purple haze.
I knew what needed to be done. The mother should have been thrown in the pool with Dracula but no one else came up with that idea so I didn't mention it. I do hate to be the one who always has to point out EVERYTHING.
Ah, the gym. What a place of respite. I realize why I go. It's just SO good for your health.
© Robynn's Ravings 2013