Can I Be Frank?: Locker Room Massacre

For those of you that read my column/blog/frivolous rabble, you have probably noticed that a few of my posts give a less-than-manly impression (READ: Justin Timberlake and Tom Brady) of me.  With that said, my heterosexuality was absolutely confirmed recently.

You ask why?  And that is your answer, The Y.

The YMCA.  The Young Men's Christian Association, a 168 year old, worldwide organization of more than 45 million members from 125 national federations affiliated through the World Alliance of YMCAs.

The YMCA’s main motto is: "Empowering young people."

Well, based on my experience I think the Y’s motto should be altered to ‘Gross dudes taking showers.’

Allow me to explain.  My son has recently started taking some swim classes at our local YMCA.  His class is about 30 minutes long and then he has another 30 minutes of ‘free swim’ time.  He loves it.  It’s great.  Blah, blah.

The class begins at 4:30PM and I usually pick him up afterwards.  Here is where my moment of hetero-clarity begins.  During my first visit to the Y (as we are not members) I asked the person at the front desk how to get to the pool area?  She gave me some irrational explanation that the best and most convenient route is through the Mens’ Locker Room.

OK, sounds easy enough.

Walk into the locker room and get my bearings.  Hmm, where to now?  I start walking through, past the lockers, past the toilets, past the sauna.  Only thing left is the shower area?  So, I stop, turn around and head back out front to figure out the confusion.

“Excuse me, sorry to bother you again, but you said the best way to the pool was through the locker room, correct?  I did not see any exit,” I inquired?

“Yes, sir, the entrance is at the back of the shower area,” my soon-to-be-arch-enemy instructed.

Huh?  What?  Who?

“OK…,” I curiously responded and headed back into the place where naked guys go.

Gingerly pass through the locker room again.  Peak my head around the corner of the shower area.  Sure enough, there was a door at the FAR end of the room.

The issue would not be the geography of this passageway, but rather the five wet and nude fellas scrubbing up the ol’ undercarriage that I would need to walk by as I crossed this soggy sandbar comprised of short and curlys and Suave.

I walk back into the main area of the Locker Room.  Can this be right?  Why on earth would this nearly 200 year old organization strategically place a door in this spot?  This is not convenient and it is certainly NOT cool.

Flashes of Andy Dufresne’s early years at Shawshank keeping entering my mind.

Deep breath.  I need a game plan.  Obviously I would have to implore a few of the very basic guy rules we learn as young boys when we are in a mens/locker room situation:

• No eye contact of any kind, under any circumstance.
• The only talking allowed is off-color phallic remarks or jokes.
• Never, EVER, look below the nipple region.  Big no, no.
• Never smile or laugh.  That’s how people get hurt.

And so, I started my Baton Death March through a sea of sweat, soap and shampoo.

Yuck.

By the way, keep this fact in mind; I am not here to work out NOR shower.  I am dressed in street clothes, shoes on, the whole Magilla.  Well, do you think ‘Mr. Kotter and the Sweathogs’ will appreciate me traipsing across their sacred and sudsy field of ickiness?  Probably not.

These are not the Head & Shoulders I am used to seeing in the shower.

Nonetheless, I had to make this journey.  My son isn’t walking home.  At the pace of a professional speed walker I fly across the slippery tile.  For some reason I was holding my breath and doing the hands-as-side-blinders-thing as I sprinted past  Hairy White and The Village People.

I think I even exhaled a weak, “Sorry,” as I made my maiden voyage through the smell hell.

Burst through the door.

Whew!  I made it.  Now just have to grab Jr. and be on my way.

Oh wait, I have to go BACK through the shower on my way out.  CRIPES!

Needless to say I was not happy about it so I did the only logical thing; used my child as a human eye shield to cover my vision and ran through the shower like an escaped convict on the lam.

See ya later boys!  It was certainly NOT fun to stay at the YMCA!

Maybe next week I’ll just pay that other guy I noticed hanging around the locker room $5.00 bucks to pick up my boy?  He seemed nice.