Circa January, 2015
I exited the shower stall area at the gym and grabbed my towel from the nearby hanger. My visit had been productive, and free of close-encounters with heavily perfumed patrons or those that use the treadmills as a way to walk slower than the slowest setting whilst catching up with everyone they’ve ever met on their cell phone.
My happiness was cut short by a gentleman of average age and everything else who entered the nearby sink/vanity area. He sported a large, pink towel wrapped around his mid-section but was otherwise bare. It struck me odd that he needed a hair-dryer since I’d just come from the showers and hadn’t seen him.
He reached for the sole hair dryer perched on the wall — the same hair dryer previously discussed. Instead of raising the dryer to his head, as the manufacturer intended, he assumed a mini-crouch position and brought the dryer down, between his legs and below the edge of the towel. He turned the dryer on high and aimed the blast of hot air up at his nether region. The towel billowed at the edges from the updraft of air.
His right hand still holding the dryer, he crouched down further and, reaching up with his left hand, began directing traffic in the downtown area. He moaned with satisfaction, loud enough to be heard over the shrill shriek of the dryer. I looked around to see if anyone else was witnessing this horror show. No, I was the only fortunate one.
I walked past this display to the locker area. His back was turned but as, per usual, the large mirror he faced gave a direct view of things I’d prefer not to see.
I reached my locker and began to change. The dryer still droned on in the near distance. I took my time as there was no way I was going back that direction until it was clear that the crisis had passed.
It was a long wait. That had to be the nastiest hair dryer in North America.