Friday, February 24, 2006

To the Men of the New York Sports Club at 51st and Lex:

I am not, generally speaking, skeeved out by gym locker rooms. Whatever theoretical grossness lurks in the shower is invisible and therefore can remain theoretical in my mind, and since my presence there involves lots of hot water and soap, I'm good. And whatever you boys want to do in the steam room is fine by me.

But is it really so fucking hard to pick your towel up off the floor and drop it in the big hamper on your way out? It's right there, between you and the door, it's not like you have to make a special trip. Because what I really don't want is after all the soapy goodness to have to move, with bare hand or bare foot, a pile of wet-with-god-knows-what, been-god-knows-where towels that have been deposited directly in front of my locker.

Now, I realize that the majority of you who are using this gym a block from the Citicorp Center at lunchtime on a weekday are not hourly temps like me, and are used to your secretaries and trophy wives doing stuff for you, but no one's asking you do laundry or operate the fax machine. You know, if you toss the towel on a bench or over the door of your locker instead of the floor, you won't even have to bend over to pick it up.

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate people?

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