Locker Room Spirit

I went to the gym today thinking I’d get one last really good workout in before I took off. I was there for seventeen minutes. There is a black guy that works there doing maintenance type stuff. He may or may not be mildly retarded or learning disabled. Every once in a while I see him greeting people with a an uninhibited enthusiasm and saying things like “ way to go . You made it to the gym today” . Most people kinda smile at him, some ignore him altogether, and others say “ thanks man”.  Sometimes I say thanks but most of the time I change directions so I avoid him altogether. The worst is when they assign him to folding towels. If you walk by and your not holding a towel, he hums a towel at you. I shit you not. Just throws it your way. Like we are in the locker room at a boxing gym or something. That’s when he bugs me. I don’t want to catch towels. Especially with no forewarning. But you have to or you look like a sore sport. He whipped a towel at me today and it almost hit me in the face. I’m so strung out about leaving that I almost snapped. I spent a good fourteen minutes wondering how much of a bitch I would look like if I complained but I knew I would end  up looking like a pussy.  “ excuse me. You know the retarded guy who works here?”

“ Um. We don’t have any retarded guys who work here.”

“ oh. Well you know the one who tries to be all coachy to people, cheering them on for coming to the gym? The one who hums towels at people? He’s a black guy?”

“Um. What happened miss?”

“He threw a towel at me and he almost hit me in the face.  I just think, ya know, he shouldn’t be in charge of the towels if he’s gonna whip them at you unexpectedly”

“ ok we’ll tell him not to throw towels. I understand how dangerous that can be”

I kept my mouth shut and went to get a sandwich. I’m so afraid they won’t have food that I like in RIo. Heavens  forbid I don’t eat seven times a day.

 I can’t eat a lot in the heat anyway.

But I did  pack snacks.

I hope I’m not the only girl who packed food.



Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

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