The Perils of the Locker Room

One of the awkward things about being a gay man is the very real potential of running into your adolescent crush in a locker room. Such first exposures require either significant planning or significant alcohol to avoid mortification.

However, when one looks good, much gratification can be found in similar situations.

Several years ago I quit what would be considered by some to be a "very good job." I won't elaborate on the horrors, as the details are tedious and have been survived. However, on the day I resigned it's safe to say that this square peg came to the painful realization that I would never fit into that round hole.

I went into VP's office. Now, I'd been making noises about quitting for several weeks, and twice had allowed myself to sidetracked. This time I was not going to be swayed. It was no secret that this VP did not like me and I purposely waited until my boss was out of the office so I could teneder my notice to his boss. I wasn't polished enough for his taste. I also think my being gay factored into his problems. Whatever they were, he could barely hide them. When I went into his office he was annoyed. I sat down and told him I would stay in the office another two weeks. He seemed genuinely surprised and asked why.

For once the elocution gods smiled; and I was able to say in the politest, most professional terms that I thought he was the fruit of Satan's spilled seed taking root in the primal ooze. Recently I heard the phrase, "He was born on third base and thought he hit a triple." This applied to the VP. He was very smart, but not too intelligent, and clearly had gotten through life on his elfin charm and dimples. However, at fifty, youth was fading fast. That was, I think, another part of the problem with me. I'm very youthful. Anyway, I served my two weeks and then went home to sink into a seven-month deep depression.

The depression was tolerated, and eventually contained through a very strict regimen of exercise. Up at 4:30, at the gym at 5:30, six days a week. After a year and a half at this pace I looked better than I have ever looked in my life. One morning, after my shower, I rounded the corner to my locker and was confronted by Satan's bastard in all his sagging, elderly glory.

I dropped my towel and had "difficulty" opening my locker. I didn't need to say a word. And he didn't speak either. I was late for work that day because I just couldn't bring myself to get dressed while he was in the locker room.

Today, in the middle of the afternoon at the gym, I saw RP, the adolescent crush. Fortunately I was able to choreograph my exit so that we weren't in the locker room at the same time. Not that I think he'd even notice me. But I would definitely notice him.