"Is she there?"

I thought it was a strange way to start a conversation. Rather abrupt. No hi. No how are you?.

I had just finished my swim and was changing in the locker room at the Y. The man who had a locker a couple down from me was talking on his cell phone, loud enough to frighten elderly people, small children, or anybody else who happened to have the faculty of hearing.

This man obviously never learned how to use his 'inside voice.'

"Is she around?" repeated the man.

Around . . . around . . . around . . .

The echo made the lockers tremble nervously and left an uncomfortable silence in its place.

The person on the other end said something. Probably something like, "Sir if you just speak up a little, I'm sure she'll hear you."

"No, no, no," he said. "Can you see if you can find her?"

While he was talking, the man decided he needed to take his shorts off, right then, mid-conversation. Holding the phone to his ear with one hand, he shimmied his shorts and underwear down to his ankles with the other and nearly fell over as he pulled them off first one leg, then the next, catching them on one of his shoes. That's right: his shoes. He still had his shoes on. Buck naked. Phone to ear. Shoes on.

I have to stop here a second and say that, while I don't consider myself to be overly modest or prude when it comes to nudity, my own or anybody elses, I do find the extreme immodesty exhibited in men's locker rooms somewhat disturbing. For instance, if you're heading to the showers, and you're 80 years old, hung like an elephant, and your testicles swing low between your legs like some obscene grandfather clock, then wrap a friggin' towel around your torso, man! I don't need to be confronted with that shit! I suppose one could argue that I don't have to look. Trust me, I'm not trying. But it's kind of like a car crash: even though you're holding your hands over your eyes, you can't help but peer through cracked fingers, despairing, and wonder . . . why? Why did this unfortunate thing have to happen? And some guys seem to be so proud about how shockingly ugly their bodies are, that they really WANT you to have a look, perhaps hoping that you'll actually faint with fear.

But I digress. I'll just leave it at this: exhibitionist old men are a pet peave of mine. But not as much as what I'm about to describe. I'll warn you, if you're eating right now, you may want to put the food away.

The locker room has these white plastic stools that are there for your convenience, so you can sit down to take off your shoes, etc. Now I've got nothing against taking off shoes. And I've certainly got nothing against sitting down. But what does bother me is when you take off all your clothes before taking off your shoes, then proceed to sit your bare ass on one of those white plastic stools. No towel. No buffer. Just bare ass crack against plastic stool. A plastic stool that I might unknowingly come into the locker room one day and, oh I don't know, put my hat on, let's say.

What are you thinking, man? You just got through working out. Have some respect! This isn't your bedroom!

As the guy took his shoes off, and I struggled to keep from turning on this guy and asking what the hell was wrong with him, putting his ass on the stool like that, the person he had been speaking to came back on the line.

"Not there, huh?" he crossed his legs casually, like he was at the office or something. "Alright, can you tell her that I was calling to check if the bond came through for Such and Such construction company."

nee, nee, nee . . . . The echo. The hair on my neck stood on end.

I wondered if the women in the adjacent locker room, separated by a foot of concrete, could here this conversation.

Something spoken on the other end.

"No, no, no," he said with an annoyed tone. He stood up. "I'm not leaving a voicemail. Just give her the message, please."

He hung up, put the phone in his locker, and slammed the door shut. As he walked by me toward the shower he muttered something angrily about leaving a message and damnit she could just tell her herself.

Clearly, this was a man who couldn't be bothered with things like voicemail.

I finished changing and left the locker room, but I have to say that I will never look at those plastic stools the same way again.

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