Some of the fun for me in writing these posts is finding the appropriate pictures to mesh with the topic, and I so love the work that artists put out in the public domain. But, why did I choose the thumbnail picture I did for this? Oh, because this is what I walked in on tonight at my gym. peeing image attribution
I train at a co-ed Martial Arts gym, & several of the people are taking classes as part of their fight training. There are big dudes & tough gals. We all love it, have a blast, & challenge each other.
And then, there is Mr. Spider Monkey. We’ll call him Fred. Fred moves at the speed of lightening, and just… never… stops …moving …ever. There are nights when the instructor will stop giving verbal instruction and wait for Mr. Spider Monkey to stop punching or kicking the heavy bag. There are nights when he’s been late to class, and just hauled right in like a freight train to join class without bowing or putting on his belt (he got got called on the floor for that one); if you’re a student of Martial Arts, you know respect for the instructor and space is paramount, and yeah… then there’s Fred. Oh, and Fred? He sweats like a stuck pig being ushered to slaughter. That’s real fun, too.
And then, there was last tonight. I saw more of Mr. Spider Monkey than I ever cared to see.
As I go into the space, I bow, and head towards the unisex restroom at the back of the classroom. We do a lot of fast movement, and after a few kids, well, I need to make sure that espresso sized bladder I have is empty. The door to the bathroom IS NOT CLOSED – it is cracked open – indicating my entrance is welcome, so I open the door. And holy crap, I walk in on Fred takin’ a wiz.
Fred: <stunned expression>
Me: <Slams door shut and keeps hand on it to make sure it stays shut> Jesus! Maybe next time close the door?
Big linebacker dude in class nearby: Um, that should have registered for me, but yeah, the door was open.
Everyone in class: <covering mouth, trying desperately not to cackle out loud>
Me: <mouthing to class> OMFG… shut the friggin’ door. DUH.
Class: no longer containing laughter…
Fred scurries out of the bathroom, desperately trying to avoid me, but I’m standing right outside the door. I look him in the eye and say, “Sorry ’bout that.” He can’t even make eye contact with me – he knows I’ve seen his spider monkey wanker. And he knows I did not like it. Fred makes a mad dash to the closest heavy bag to beat it up as I walk into the bathroom.
And after all that, he couldn’t even put the seat down. Seriously, dude?