if i have to start carrying mace, i’m done.

before i permanently purge this from my memory from the ever-increasing creep factor alone, i must blog it. because all of the weird/creepy/disgusting things that happen to me at the gym must be preserved for posterity.  

location: apartment ghetto gym.

time: approximately 1:30 p.m.

there is a family outside in the pool, people in the leasing office, maintenance men wandering around doing handy things–the place is generally in a bustle.  the apartment gym, however, is thankfully empty. i’m on the elliptical, ten minutes in.  a guy, between 16 and 20 (i couldn’t really tell) comes in and goes into the bathroom.  i smile slightly at him, as it is now my policy to not in fact look like i will murder you while working out, even though that is my default expression.

he’s in there for a while.

i don’t judge.  listen, it happens. sometimes lunch just wasn’t a good choice, and if that’s the case, that is precisely the place you need to be.  i don’t judge, but i do notice.  on tuesday there was a little six year old girl who was in the bathroom for like 20 minutes.  i was about to see if she was okay when she came out–because she was six.  but adults?  not my business.

so it’s important for you to know that two sides of this room is covered in mirrors, much like every gym.  the elliptical faces diagonally–not right at the mirrors, but sort of at the wall between the two mirrored walls.  the mirrors, though, pick up what’s behind me, which is the men’s bathroom door and the window to the parking lot.  i pretty much can see everything.

you should also know that when i am on the elliptical, i try VERY HARD not to look at the machine’s display screen because it makes time crawl by. i normally choose a point on the wall in front of me–which happens to be the women’s bathroom door–and start at it.  it’s sort of zen and it lets me zone out while i’m moving so that i am not counting minutes.  i am usually quite successful at it.

when i’m by myself, though, i will occasionally look in the mirror. perhaps i am vain to admit that, but it helps me to check my posture, to see how my exertion level is being presented to the world, etc.  but sometimes, it’s just another place to look, especially if there’s something going on in the parking lot.  

so about…five? six? minutes later, i see, out of the corner of my eye as i shift perspectives from the wall to the mirror, that the men’s bathroom door is cracked.  this kid hasn’t come out, and i realize that he is PEERING OUT OF THE BATHROOM DOOR at me.  i turn around, i think, and look at the door to make sure that i was seeing right (i didn’t have my glasses on and, quite honestly, i was completely shocked).  

he closes it and then opens it and comes out and stands at the bottled water machine, which is probably four feet from the elliptical that i am on.  basically, he is standing right next to me.

my ipod is on, but i see his lips moving and realize that he is talking to me.

behold the creepiest conversation i have EVER had:

him: sorry.

me: you’re fine.

[put ipod back on]

[his mouth moving again–take ipod off again]

him: you weren’t upset?

me: it’s not a big deal.

[put ipod back on. i am CLEARLY TRYING TO STOP TALKING TO HIM. and yet his lips are moving again.  i guess it’s too much to ask that he’s adept at subtle body language.]

him: mumblemumblemumble me?

me: what?

[why am i even talking to him?!?]

him: did you see me?

me: yes.

him: and it didn’t make you upset?

me: it’s not a big deal.

[well, it wasn’t a big deal until you made me think more about it, you creepy freakshow.  i’m quickly reconsidering.]

[i put my ipod back on, feeling like the conversation is over.  he drinks water.  hallelujah.  oh flip, his lips are moving again and i am apparently compelled to continue responding.]

him: so if it happened again, you wouldn’t be upset?

me: [exasperated] i don’t know, i wasn’t really paying that much attention.

him: [sort of creepily chuckling]  sorry.

[i put my ipod back on.  conversation OVER. his dad apparently gestures him out and he leaves. the creep factor increases exponentially as i rehash the conversation in my head for the next ten or fifteen minutes.]

behold the next generation of stalkers, who apparently are ASKING PERMISSION of their victims?  i can just picture his defense: she saw me, your honor, and she didn’t even seem upset. i asked her! 

i have no idea what he was looking at.  i mean, i can guess what he was looking at, but i was in workout clothes–not even tight workout clothes–and sweating like crazy.  i had a hat on.  i had my ipod on. there was nothing remotely attractive about me at that moment. i was DRENCHED sweaty. i’m just not that cute.  nevertheless…apparently something was interesting enough for creepy stalker bathroom guy. 

this could really only happen to me.  

truly.

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9 Responses to “if i have to start carrying mace, i’m done.”

  1. ok. i hate to take this conversation in this direction, but perhaps he was masturbating?

  2. oh chickbug. leave it to you.

    yes, that thought had crossed my mind, but as i very quickly and forcefully exiled it to the netherworld of DISGUSTING OH MY GOSH DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT IT thoughts, i didn’t bring it up.

    but yes. perhaps. and EWWWW.

  3. Wow. I don’t even know how to reply to that. How creepy.

  4. OMG, is this the guy that was staring at you earlier in the spring semester? Holy Moses. I would have told him I saw him, that he was a creep and that if I EVER saw him do it again, he’d have to deal with authorities. Or at least the apartment managers, who sure wouldn’t want a creeper in their building gym.

  5. LOLZ

    This definitely made my night.

  6. Oh dear. I am sorry. I hope there never is a next time, but if there is- please DO something! At least tell the guy (if he asks permission- Weird!) that it is NOT ok with you! Sorry about your encounter. Gross.

  7. Hmmm… Well, I believe I am going to go throw up now. Excuse me for one moment.
    .
    .
    .
    Okay, next time, bring a GUN!

  8. O!M!G!
    He was doing the nasty then talked to you about it. FREAKING UNBELIEVABLE! EWWWWWWWWWW. DOUBLE EWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
    .
    .
    .
    but judge she said it was ok.

  9. Ew what a creep!

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