I actually like going to the gym.

It makes me feel better.

Keeps my weight somewhere between acceptable and still fitting into my jeans.

What I do not like is the guy in the locker room who walks around naked with nothing but a smile and an opinion.

You know the one.

Bare ass.

Bare confidence.

Like he just escaped a zoo exhibit, and this is his big moment.

I get it.

You gotta shower.

We all sweat our asses off.

That part makes sense.

What does not make sense is standing dead center of the shower room talking at full fuckin volume while rubbing a bar of soap on yourself like you?re trying to scrape the skin off.

Buddy.

We can all hear you.

The room echoes.

You do not need to project like you?re auditioning for a Shakespeare play called Naked and Loud.

Then he shuts the water off and starts his slow parade across the locker room, still talking.

Still dripping water everywhere like a leaking fire hydrant with a mouth.

Now, the poor bastard he?s talking to, you can see it in his eyes.

He?s trapped.

That look says

I made eye contact once, and now I?m fucked.

He?s nodding.

Waiting for a break.

Any break.

So he can escape with his dignity and maybe his eyesight intact.

But no.

It never fails.

Mr Show Everything You Got Guy makes his way right over beside me.

Right beside me.

Now he?s drying off.

And instead of soap, he?s aggressively towel-polishing his package like he?s trying to start a fire.

I bend over to tie my shoe, and that?s when he does it.

He cocks his leg up on the bench next to me.

Buddy.

I don?t know you like that.

I?m staring at the floor, fighting for my life.

Thinking about groceries.

Taxes.

Anything but this moment.

And that?s when he says

Hey, man, you gotta see this scar I got from rock climbing in Newfoundland.

No, I fuckin don?t.

I don?t want to look at you.

I don?t want to look near you.

I don?t even want to hear your voice bouncing off the tiles.

Go away.

Hell,I don?t even want to talk to you.

This guy takes twenty goddamn minutes to put his underwear on.

Twenty minutes.

I?m dry.

Dressed.

Halfway through my water bottle.

Considering a second workout.

He?s still standing there naked.

Adjusting.

Stretching.

Rotating his pecker like it?s a rotisserie chicken.

Why can?t this guy get it through his thick skull that nobody came here to admire him?

This isn?t a nudist colony.

It?s a fuckin gym.

People come here to relieve stress.

Not get ambushed by some asshole waving his pecker in your face while telling a story nobody asked for.

Put your underwear on.

Lower your voice.

And take your pecker on a field trip somewhere else.

?????????????...and that's callin' it like it is!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Canadian artist & digital troublemaker Colin John Cook shares his louder-than-life, awkward, and honest-as-hell stories. Packed with humour, real talk & creative insights in a no filter, digital comedy space that laughs at life & calls it like it is. He is also the Founder and President of

The Hidden Gallery - Art Studio & Micro Theatre

??