I hate my gym.
I hate everything about it. It’s in a basement in a government building (rat’s maze!) and smells like the loading dock/garbage area it sits between. The radio is too loud and staticky and the machines are barely passable for human interactions without some sort of bloodletting injury implied.
The people. Oh god the people that work out there… Sour faced, mouth breathing idiots who would probably instantaneously transform into a column of ash if they smiled. And if they’re not scowling, then they’re using the word “fuck” as an adjective, noun, verb. And as commonly as they would use the word “the”.
In all honesty, I don’t mind the place. It keeps me focused, since I don’t have to deal with any of these issues, really.
But I noticed this morning a peculiar dressing habit of one well built gentleman who has never uttered a single word the whole time I’ve been going there. He’s putting on his dress shirt (I expect he’s a manager somewhere within this huge city building) and in doing so he tucks it into his underwear.
Okay, not weird. I get it. If you were James Bond, you would want your dress shirt to stay in place while you jump across the terracotta shingled rooftops of some Middle Eastern marketplace, so tucking is not a bad thing.
Mr Quiet has tucked his shirt in and THROUGH his briefs’ legs.
Like, right through. Half way down the back of his legs and the two halves of the front of his shirt on either side of his package.
It’s not that he’s wearing an ill fitting shirt. He’s at the gym every day and has a body that shows it, so he’s a shirt-maker’s dream. His silhouette cuts a GQ model shape, so he’s not dressed wrong… he’s just dressing wrong. He looked like he was wearing Speedos over an olde-tyme nightgown, giving him a sort of diaper-ish kind of look.
Now before you say anything in the comments, I know a million people do this to keep their shirts in place, but I’ve never seen it this dramatic.
As I dressed I wondered just what was his underwear for then? And then I realized with a combination of horror and disgust that I pitied that poor man’s dry cleaner.