The right to privacy
It’s January and, like many other lard-arsed sloths, I’ve made my way back to the gym. My new entertainment is to pound the treadmill in foul temper and think about all the great things I’ll be able to do with the money I save once I cancel my membership.
At least I can now see where that money is going. Previously I thought it was used to fund the vast amounts of make-up used by the receptionists but no, we’ve had a refurbishment.
Indeed one of the reasons I stayed away from the gym during December (well, that and the duvet being a far better option) was that the changing rooms were a building site. During the refurb there were temporary showers. Not an outside area and a garden hose, but not far off. These were the porta-potty equivalent of showers. They were tiny, the size of a telephone box, but without the charm added by the eau-de-tramp piss and the business cards of the local tarts. Instead what you had was a damp upright coffin with a shower curtain that clung to you no matter how far away from it you tried to shuffle.
In comparison, the new showers are palatial. Indeed, they are just like the old showers, but with one important difference - the two cubicles at the end have doors on them.
Doors! Why? Where is the necessity for privacy? A shower in the gym is the one place you can reasonably expect to get away with lathering your genitals in front of other people. Try it in the queue for the Corkscrew at Alton Towers for instance, and there’d be a right old fuss.
Privacy of this sort encourages deviancy and degeneracy. What the hell does one do in a shower that’s so private? Have they got an embarrassing tattoo?
Worst of all, surely somebody using such a facility would draw attention to themselves and be eyed with suspicion. You’d wondered exactly what, and who, was going on in there. Maybe they’re for smokers?
At least I can now see where that money is going. Previously I thought it was used to fund the vast amounts of make-up used by the receptionists but no, we’ve had a refurbishment.
Indeed one of the reasons I stayed away from the gym during December (well, that and the duvet being a far better option) was that the changing rooms were a building site. During the refurb there were temporary showers. Not an outside area and a garden hose, but not far off. These were the porta-potty equivalent of showers. They were tiny, the size of a telephone box, but without the charm added by the eau-de-tramp piss and the business cards of the local tarts. Instead what you had was a damp upright coffin with a shower curtain that clung to you no matter how far away from it you tried to shuffle.
In comparison, the new showers are palatial. Indeed, they are just like the old showers, but with one important difference - the two cubicles at the end have doors on them.
Doors! Why? Where is the necessity for privacy? A shower in the gym is the one place you can reasonably expect to get away with lathering your genitals in front of other people. Try it in the queue for the Corkscrew at Alton Towers for instance, and there’d be a right old fuss.
Privacy of this sort encourages deviancy and degeneracy. What the hell does one do in a shower that’s so private? Have they got an embarrassing tattoo?
Worst of all, surely somebody using such a facility would draw attention to themselves and be eyed with suspicion. You’d wondered exactly what, and who, was going on in there. Maybe they’re for smokers?
1 Comments:
Gym showers are always disgusting and therefore, I go home to shower after my (new) workout routine. I hope you have a pair of flip-flops. I would imagine that acquiring toe fungus is not one of your New Years resolutions.
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