I’m changing from towel to street clothes and the guy behind and four lockers to my right is taking his own sweet time doing the same. That’s ok, some people dress slow and like to take their time but the thing is, he’s positioned himself in a T-intersection to oversee the entire locker room. A clear view from where he’s dressing to the main isle and when he goes up on his toes, he’s got a clear view into the cubby holes, created by the lockers.
Slowly he dresses. Watching everyone, except for me, for some insulting reason (not that he was good looking). I guess I’m too damn pretty or too easy to ogle. He slowly puts on his underwear, back to his locker (while 99% of us face our lockers when we dress), going up on his toes every few moments to see what’s what. Hey there! Hi there! Ho there!
Since he’s virtually ignoring me, I stop tying my shoes to actually look at his face and his eyes. There’s nothing I can read there. It’s as almost as if he’s doing this on automatic and has probably been doing it for years and doesn’t realize he’s being that “creepy guy” in the room. He certainly isn’t focusing on any one particular person, his gaze darts from person to person. He’s “just looking” in the purest sense of the word, but his default is set to repeat the scan, looping looping looping. He’s freaking me out a bit and I feel a pang of sorrow for his need to unabashedly, wildly look around the room like an expectant prom queen looking for her king to come back with the spiked punch.
I start to whistle “Some Day My Prince Will Come” from Snow White to charge the moment with some bitter malice on my part. He doesn’t notice.