So Not Hot

Yesterday after work, and after Starbucks, I headed to the gym. I've been going way easy lately, since I'm battling a cold. And I... uh... read somewhere that men with my body type--I am an ectomorph!--have to worry about overtraining more than anything else. It's about short, focused workouts with heavy weights. Or something. Not like I'm any closer to breaking 190 or anything.

Anyway, the plan was stretching, chest, steamroom, and shaving. Stretching was great. But stretching is always great. And did a good chest workout; great pump and all. So then it was time for the the steamroom. I headed for the lockerroom and right off the bat, I hit the button and got the steam going. (I like a mature steam.)

Doffed my clothes, stashed them in my locker, and took a nice shower. As I was coming out of the shower, I noticed this guy, carrying a newspaper, heading towards the steamroom.

Uh oh.

I hate sharing the steamroom.

O that it were only that.

In the steamroom, I found a guy sitting on the bench, with the steam off, reading the paper.

I repeat: With the steam off.

I went into a tailspin. And quicky.

I plopped down next to him, trying to figure out how to play this. Like, "'Scuse me, mind if I turn the steam on for a bit, warm it up in here?"

Of course he'd mind, I reasoned, you can't have a newspaper in the steamroom.

Okay. Surely he'd realize that the temperature was dropping. The steamroom is generally blazing hot. Already, it was sort of like getting into a car parked in the sun on a July afternoon. And the temperature was dropping.

Time passed. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes.

He finished up the sports section (of USAToday, of course) and headed into the business pages.

Now, that's just plain rude!

With my finger, next to me on the bench, I inscribed R-U-D-E. Then I-N-C-O-N-S-I-D-E-R-A-T-E. Then A-S-S-H-O-L-E.

Twenty minutes. Twenty-five minutes.

By now, the steamroom wasn't much more than balmy.

At this point, I was boiling. Saying something was off the table. I didn't trust myself. "Excuse me, Buddy! I hope you don't mind if I put the steam on just for a minute... By gosh, it's not much warmer in here than it is out in the lockerroom! So, would that be okay, you stupid worthless sack of vomitus? You plague upon humanity! You mindless inconsiderate perfect storm of idiocy!!"

But I had to get going. My father must have his dinner! I threw in the towel, so to speak, and headed out to shave. I was just about to lather up when my steamroom buddy emerged.

I couldn't help noticing that he didn't have his paper with him.

A ha! Got him. I visualized retrieving his soggy paper from the steamroom and presenting it to him in the lockerroom, saying something saccharine like, "Oh excuse me, you left your paper in the steamroom!"

But no sooner had I formulated the plan than he peed and headed back in for round two.

He'll pay for this. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day. He's going to pay for this.

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