If there is one source of angst for men (okay, other than girls, the turn-your-head-and-cough test, or the Mr. Happy Finger test), it has got to be the Locker Room. This is probably one of the primeval sort functions for the male of the species... those who are comfortable parading around in their skivvies (or less) among other men, and those that are not. I am in the "are not" camp. But being me, I see it as A) a great opportunity to analyze the human condition, and B) a challenging test for my chameleon skills.
Exactly where do they keep the "Large" towels? I see guys walking around with their home-made terry cloth skirts, but the towels I pick up never seem to reach around me with enough slack to accomplish the necessary tuck maneuver for this fashion feat. Hmmmmm....
New work-out goal: Lose enough weight to wear a terry-cloth skirt
The only thing I'm more self-conscious about than public nudity (well, with an audience anyway) is being self-conscious about being self-conscious about public nudity.
Personally, I use the waiter approach (excuse me... make that the "server approach"). Having disrobed as awkwardly as humanly possible, trying hard not to fall over the bench with my shorts around my ankles, I hold a towel nonchalantly over my arm, covering the the naughty front parts with as much devil-may-care as I can muster.
So if you have to pass by someone that is sitting in close proximity, do you rub your butt on them or your crotch? Never mind ... another post perhaps.
It is the longest walk in the world, from the lockers to the actual showers. To make it worse, the tile floor around the showers are always slippery. Do you know how hard it is to look nonchalant, draping a towel over half your
twig and berries, walking the longest walk in the world, on a slippery floor?
Finally the safe fortress of solitude that is the shower stall. Hot water to counter any... ahem shrinkage... from the cold sweaty undies. ( We won't dwell here. ) Hot water to chase away the tightness of the just-worked-out muscles. Especially my butt-cheeks that have worked particularly hard trying not to fall. The walk back doesn't seem quite as far, but there is an added complexity.
For the disrobing part, you can fidget in your locker, arranging your gym bag, toweling off sweat, or whatever, until you have enough privacy to do the deed... to achieve nakedness. On the way back from the shower, however, you are committed. You, a wet towel (strategically draped again) and your locker key must face whomever, of whatever crowd, now has assembled about your locker. Focus on your target. Find your locker. Avoid eye contact. Avoid touching at all costs. Pray your path is clear. Please Lord, don't let me fall.
A burley black man is waiting for me. Oh, he's pretending not to notice, keeping his back to me the whole time, but I know he's just waiting for an opportunity to drop a sneaker and steal a glance at my lily-white bum.
I fumble with the key to my locker. In quick. Towel-shield still holding off the prying stares. Fresh shorts and t-shirt, shoes. Hey... where's my tidy-whities? I forgot to pack underwear. Quick think... do you slip back into the sweaty ones balled up in the bottom of your gym bag (Ewwww!) or....
I go commando.
I don't think Mr. Mandingo, now in his ubiquitous terry skirt, noticed. And are those ...shower footies he's wearing? Hmmm... a new wardrobe accessory to consider.
