Things are looking grim

Today, we here at Naction! are pleased to be able to offer you a guest column. This piece comes to us courtesy of an anonymous member. Enjoy.
-Deskie

On a typical day, after wading through the waist deep puddle in the parking lot, narrowly avoiding employee-cast projectiles, declining a towel at the front desk (see post #6 "the phantom pisser"), greeting El Cid and lamenting the dubious disappearance of Ninja man, it's time to hunker down and get ready for a day at the gym. For most people this process would also involve changing out of your street clothes and into gym clothes. Gym clothes for the common members include either way too big basketball shorts & sleeveless tees, way, way too small biking shorts & something else (I never get a chance to see due to temporary blindness induced by the biking shorts), or varying degrees of spandex tights, shirts, and whatever other spandex apparel people have been able to locate. I myself refrain from changing my clothes at the gym as often as possible.

Regardless, there are three places in the gym that I consider appropriate for changing, and none of them are appropriate for changing. The locker room would be the obvious choice. I don't see that as a viable option, due not only to the fact that people shave their balls and pee on towels in there, but also to the fact that it is a place where many old, sweaty, completely naked men congregate. It is my belief that several of them are gym members expressly for the purpose of walking around in the locker room pants-less. (An astute observation, and completely true. More on this disturbing trend later. -Deskie) The reasons behind this behavior elude me, but I have accepted it as a lifestyle choice and moved on. However, this unfortunate situation completely removes the possibility of my changing in the locker room. Ever.

The second location generally accepted as a changing room is the bathroom unfortunately located just inside the day care center. This location has it's pros and cons. It's pros being that it's not as far from the rock wall as the locker room, and there are usually no old naked men. The day care center bathroom is abhorrent to me for a great many reasons, the most notable of which is the fact that it smells like someone went in there to take a dump... and missed. I have not totally abandoned this theory due to the second reason why I don't, or rather can't, change in there. People regularly spend three to four days at a time in the bathroom. What they do in there is a mystery to me (clean up the mess they made when they missed?). Whatever the cause, on the rare occasions that the bathroom is not in use, it smells like someone accidently left a pile of diapers in there over the weekend. So I don't change in there.

The third and final location that I have deemed acceptable to change in is the space behind the rock wall. Naturally this place is also completely inhospitable to the average human life-form. I have not yet been able to spend more than 2 minutes behind the rock wall without developing severe frostbite. As a direct result of this, I am now minus one toe. Of course there is also the matter of privacy behind the rock wall. In the locker room nakedness is obviously acceptable, and in the bathroom, you can lock the door. Behind the wall however, in addition to being naked at near absolute zero, you face the equally chilling possibility of one of the gym's myriad lost-and-found hunters walking in on you while you are, as they say, without pants. Clearly the gym is not a suitable place for one looking to change their clothes.

Work Hazard: Flying Objects.

Seen recently at the gym: One employee, standing halfway up the staircase to the second floor, threw a stability ball at an unsuspecting co-worker. Unsuspecting co-worker recoiled in pain as the ball bounced off the back of his head. The assassin triumphantly bellowed "Oh snap" through a crowd of customers who stood wide-eyed in stunned silence. Unsuspecting Co-worker proceeded to repremand Staircase Assassin loudly with a string of expletives (and rightly so). Satisfied that victory was his, Staircase Assassin ignored U.C.'s tirade and turned away. But without warning, Unsuspecting Co-worker unleashed a devastating counterstrike by throwing a shoe at S.A.'s face.

In a shocking display of audacity, S.A., in obvious pain, complained that this retaliation was unjust. After a heated exchange about which makeshift missle was more damaging, it was determined that science would resolve the dispute. Exchanging original positions, U.C. threw the stability ball at S.A. Unfortunately, U.C. proved to be significantly less accurate with a stability ball than with footwear. He succeeded only at grazing S.A.'s head, but did score a direct hit on a nearby customer. In the interests of preventing further collateral damage, the physics experiment was suspended indefinitely. Future customers should note that hostilities might resume at any time.

Into The Night

Since this place is constantly overflowing with weirdos, I rarely notice when one of them stops coming here. It's like taking sand away from the beach. But recently I noticed that one of my all-time favourites has left. I don't know his name. In fact, I have always gone out of my way to avoid learning it. I know him only as Ninja Man. Ninja Man had only one workout outfit. It was comprised of blindingly white Pearl Izumi running shoes, long black spandex tights, a long sleeve skin -tight black Underarmour shirt, dark sunglasses, and a bandana. Yes, he wore the sunglasses all the time. The Matrix had him, I guess.
Being a kid who grew up on comic books, I always held Ninja Man in special regard. I figure he's the closest I'll ever come to meeting a real-life superhero. No one but Batman owns that much black spandex. This guy was a 5 or 6 day a week guy, and didn't seem like the type to wear the same outfit over and over. One can only wonder what his closet looks like. I suppose he bought the stuff in bulk. The scene at the register must've been a riot.

-So, I'd like to buy all of your spandex tights, and these underarmour shirts. I could only find eight on the rack, are there any more?
-Ummm, I'm not sure. I don't think so. Are they for a team or something?
-No, they - they're all for me.
-Do you, um, are you, like, a ninja or something?

Look, even if the checkout kid didn't say it, they were thinking it. How could you not? There's a real limited number of reasons to buy all that spandex.
a) Ninja b) Superhero c) Complete Weirdo.

Are superheros self-conscious about having their butts and packages exposed in those outfits? I suppose if you're busy fighting crime, you don't have time to think about it. And when you aren't fighting crime, you're either flying or driving some fancy car or something, so people couldn't check out your ass. On the other hand, maybe that's the whole point. Is there any inherent advantage to fighting crime in spandex? I'm not an expert, but I don't think so. Maybe it is for the attention. I really wanted to ask him about that, but I was afraid that ninjas respond badly to being asked whether or not they are are hoping to get checked out by a bunch of tree-necked weightlifting meatheads. He might crane kick me or something. I remained silent.

His gleaming white sneakers always presented a startling contrast to his head-to-ankle jet black outfit. I often wondered how they stayed so clean, despite the many hours he spent running. Then I found out he ran barefoot. Apparently, he thought if it worked for the Kenyans, it would work for him. Maybe I'm wrong, but he never seemed to be pushing world record pace on the treadmill. His sweaty feet did push the room toward world record stink, though. I don't know why this was allowed to go on. I suppose everyone was afraid of getting crane kicked.

Now Ninja Man is gone. True to his namesake, he has left no trail, provided no explanation, left no trace.

Through the fog . . .

Today it came to my attention that an interesting event occured at the gym this weekend. A customer was in the men's steam room shaving his balls. I shit you not. Another customer objected to this and informed one of the desk attendants on duty. The desk attendant then confronted the shaver, who denied the accusation. The d.a. tried to reason with him, noting that "there's a time and a place for everything, and this is certainly not the place". The customer only offered more denials.

This incident raises several questions. First, and most obviously, What The Fuck? Second, although this customer has a lengthy history of bizarro behaviour (upon which more at a later time), and everyone assumes he is guilty, the denial seems inconsistant with the crime. It occurs to me that a public ball shaver would be unaware that this is massively antisocial behaviour, and so would not deny doing it. Denying the offense is indicative of knowledge of wrongdoing. There are alot of things one might do even though one knows they are wrong - robbing a bank, cheating on a test, etc. But shaving your balls in public? It baffles the mind. There must be an answer to this, but I am afraid to try thinking about what it is. Denial makes public ball shaving even worse, if that's possible.

Third, is the accusing customer making it up? Ordinarily, I would dismiss this option out of hand. Who would falsely accuse someone else of shaving their nuts in a steam room? But at the gym, nothing seems impossible. I will look into who the accuser is. Fourth, should there have been an investigation? And by investigation, I mean should the d.a. have demanded to see the customer's balls? If the customer were innocent, it would be the easiest way to prove it. And hell, this guy walks around the locker room naked all the time, so why not? Refusal would've surely been an admission of guilt. One could also look through the trash cans for a pile of pubes. I assume he did not leave the evidence at the scene of the crime, although he could've taken it with him. Which of course is also too weird to think about.

Here.

I work at a medium sized health club in a medium sized community in Massachusetts. For reasons that are not fully clear to me, my workplace is the strangest place on Earth. Details to follow.