I recently started a new job. It’s cool because we’ve got a gym on the first floor. It’s small, but nice. It has a locker room, showers — everything. This is perfect for me, because now I can work out while I wait for traffic to die down.
The other day, I was walking to the restroom and the janitor was there, blocking the door way with his cart behind him. He looks me up and down with a scrutinizing look as if to determine if I were fit to enter the restroom. He finally lets out a sigh and says: “Nah, dawg. Can’t let you in here.”
Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize the restroom doubled as a nightclub in the mid-afternoon. That’s fine. I decided that I’d just go downstairs to the gym and use the one in the locker room.
I get there, and there’s a dude standing there.
He’s butt-ass naked.
Really casually, like he wasn’t naked at all, looks at me and goes: “…Hey, man.”
DON’T “HEY, MAN” ME. PUT SOME GODDAMN CLOTHES ON. YOU’RE A CO-WORKER OF MINE, I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU NAKED.
At least…that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I made a beeline to the urinal and proceeded to use it in awkward silence, while he went about getting dressed.
Now every time I see him in the hall way, all I can say is: “H…hey, man.” and try my hardest not to picture his wrinkled sack, hanging two inches above his knees.
I actually told my buddy this story, and he had the audacity to tell me: “You shoulda known better than to go in there.”
Oh, for real?
How about…who the hell takes a shower at 1:30 in the afternoon?
On a Tuesday?
…while at work?
As far as I’m concerned, he’s basically walking around the work place naked.
Another friend suggested that maybe he was homeless and that he doesn’t have a home. Okay, sure.
Well, apparently he doesn’t have clothes either.