Everyone that works out knows that, at one point or another, they will have to deal with people in the locker room. I have avoided it successfully for years. Showering at home, getting in and out as soon as possible with no chance of having to use the bathroom for any reason, and keeping hand sanitizer on me at all times. The painstaking task of preparing to go the gym became dead weight in my brain, so I decided to go with the flow and use the locker room as needed. Some people use it as a second living room and strike up conversation with everyone around them naked as the day they were born. I, on the other hand, use it as simply a facility to get your shit out (yes, pun intended) and store your belongings. Some people like being around other naked dudes (cough cough Smatrick), stepping into punches instead of dodging them. I have found that whatever Smatrick is all about happens to be what I'm definitely NOT all about. Ok by me. 

Now, I know what you think I will write about it: Naked dudes walking around like nothing is wrong and mingling with others (naked or clothed). Am I that transparent? Have my blogs become predictable? Is the bulge in my pants visible from 100 yards away? I'm sure your answer is 'yes' to all those questions, but only the last one is true. These two stories I have are from the same day, and yes the men in them were wearing their birthday suits. 

I walked into the locker room after a tough workout to get my jacket. My muscles were sore, I was semi out of breath, and had my music blaring at lowrider levels. The vibe in the room was much the same: guys making small talk, blow dryers rrrrrrrring on mostly bald heads, moustaches being trimmed to Burt Reynolds quality, and Milli Vanilli cologne spraying all over the place. My locker was toward the back of an aisle, surrounded by everyone else in the room. Of all the lockers in that huge locker room, mine was in the aisle where everyone else was. I approached my locker, opened it, and then tapped on the shoulder. I turned around, took my headphones out, and immediately diverted my eyes to the ceiling, awaiting for this naked stranger to speak. "Hey, do you know my son?"

I answered, "No, I'm sorry. You must have me confused with someone else."

He said, "Oh, I think my son may know you. He went to UWM. Is that where you went?"

"Yes, sir. I graduated from there about 5 years ago."

"Oh, he's going there now. Let me describe him for you. He's blonde, about this tall, and wears jeans a lot."

Really? This guy expects me to know his son with THAT? I answered like anyone answers to a description like that. 

"I'm sure I'd know him if I saw him."

He smiled and went on. 

"Well, he works somewhere in the union. He's an art major."

He seriously wasn't getting it. It's like meeting a friend of a friend for the first time, learn that you may have went to the same high school at one point or another, and try to play the "do you know so and so" game. Mine was similar, but with a naked stranger. 

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't think I know him."

He replied, "Ok, well have a good day. Good luck."

Good luck? With what? Finding my way out the locker room? Finding his son so we can be pals? I was left with the wonderment of why this man went out of his way to try and figure out if I knew his son. Of course, my conclusions were open-ended, and my curiosity fizzled quickly. 

My ending thought was interrupted by two other naked dudes talking about their wives. I was half listening, trying to dodge the bare ass around me. I then smelt something awful. Something only creatures in the wilderness smell. A smell familiar to farmers and foreign to city slickers.  A stench like I was on a tour of the inside of an ass. Gasping for air, I immediately covered my face with a fresh towel. It was unbearable, and then one of the naked duo made a comment about it. "Dude, you smell that? It's smells like a light fart."

Light fart? More like a steam room full of goat manure.

His buddy replied, "No, man. I'm notoriously a mouth breather, so I can't really smell it."

So, you taste all the farts? Is your mouth open when you take a dump, mister? Are you and Shaq the only ones who know how Kobe's ass tastes?

The guy who asked the question didn't reply and continued getting dressed. He acted like it was a normal answer and everything was cool. 

I decided to keep my headphones at full blast from here on out. 

Fricking weirdos.