After my workout, I arrive to my locker to find a 75 year old guy closing the locker right next to mine.

“Nevah fayls! Emptah room and we’re the only two guys heyah.” His voice is a trifecta of decades of liquor and smoking, Italian and possible mild stroke.

“Ain’t it always the way,” I vapidly offer.

“When Iwazza coming heyah back garbleaglrerlajz churfff crarkle…” He’s speaking fast and since his voice is like sandpaper over rocks I can only catch every other word. “It waz alwaahzy with da hurrf and the veins.”

He’s closed his locker and is lacing up his shoes. He doesn’t stop. He’s a pleasantly enough guy and I let him go, but he’s the kind of talker who won’t let you interject anything, not a “oh dear!” even…

“Its awayz the doctorsss. They’ll find a way to glerble your gluff–”

“Yeah I–”

“–I mean they really know florfzzgch, right? Right?”

“…yes–”

“–flarbledy blood test with this Asian flarp–”

And on he went. I start to undress for my shower because if I didn’t do anything I’d still be standing there. I’ve long since try to interject, or  comment since his verbal floodgate is wide open.

“And the needle was thiz big! This big! Big! and he jabbed it into my flarglezzguh and I was oh! Then that nurze I had my eye on hubba flargle–”

BRAAAAAAA. Someone across the locker room started to use the bathing suit dryer. As difficult as it was to understand before, all hope was lost now.

BRAAAAA we had four AAAAAAA with the garh flappy pain AAAAAAA I’m verlty deuce! AAAAA Two of em shuved up in AAAAA until I stahted screamin’ aaaaaa (the machine spins down)…

By this time I’m super naked. Just a towel. But not a smartly wrapped towel, no. I thought I could find a moment where he’d stop talking and offer a “Well! Have a great day!” and exit to the showers so I didn’t bother to wrap it around me. I never wrap a towel around me to get to the showers – I like making the repressed religious freaks uncomfortable. Plus I was hoping that he’d notice I’m super naked and realize I’m on my way and he’d shut himself up to let me go. I’m backing away and he’s not noticing.

“It’s a vaylve in dere, ya know? And they’re sticking needles in mah leg and I’m all fuggedoarljk!”

So for about a solid minute (3 hours when you’re super naked) I’m standing with my saggy ass to the room, covering/not covering my “acorn sitting on a peach” (it’s cold, ok?) looking for an out.

“That’s when he says, ‘You need a bypass!'”

“That’s awful! Butthatslifetoobadyouhavea GREAT DAY!” I say and turn.

I’m a horrible person.