wanders-from-shower-head-to-showerhead" camp.
I had finished my laps and was looking forward to a nice relaxing shower -- the parking lot was pretty empty today, so I figured I might actually have the place to myself. When I got there, there was one other guy in the corner -- looked fairly normal: middle-aged, a bit hairier than most and he was somewhat pear-shaped... maybe more of an eggplant, actually. At least that's what I was able to glean from my periphery -- it's not like I was checking the dude out, okay? So, I chose the showerhead furthest from him, following proper showerroom etiquette. At first I thought he was talking to me, because I heard him say something. Well, he kinda said something... actually, he was just making this low vocalization that sounded kind of like "Nyarrrrm, nyarrrrm, nyarrrrm...." Okay, maybe he was singing to himself, I figured. Then he picks up one of the plastic chair/benches that are in there for the handi-capable showerers and starts looking at it and turning it upside-down and shit.
All right. At this point, my "creep-o-meter" was starting to register some strong creepitudinous vibrations. So he keeps on "Nyarrm"-ing and studying the bench and I'm trying to rinse off as quickly as possible to make my escape. I turned my back to rinse my face and when I turned back around, he was kind of strolling behind me, much like an eggplant-shaped cheetah might stroll by a lame wildebeast, stuck in a mudpit.
That was my cue. I turned off the shower and scurried around the corner to dry off and get the fuck outta there. As I was drying my hair, ol' Nyarrrmy actually peeks around the corner at me, kinda like this:
I'm pretty sure my eyes bugged out of my head, making a loud "AHOOOOGA!" noise, as I bolted to my locker and started throwing on my clothes. As I was tying my shoe I heard the dude turn on a couple more shower heads and his "Nyarrrm"-ing grew to a fevered pitch. I left him to Nyarrrm in peace.
Once safe in the cool air of the parking lot, I realized there's a good chance the dude probably suffers from some sort of psychosis/mental disorder. Then again, there's always the chance that he's just a creepy dude. Either way, if I had to choose, I think I'd take the grandpas lathering their balls at me to ol' Nyarrrmy. With the ball-latherers, you know what you're getting -- lathered balls. That's as far is it ever goes. With Nyarrrmy? Who the fuck knows?!
I'm thinking I might just start showering at home.
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