Sauna Shenanigans, ep. 1

"Pilot"

Something a bit lighter this time; a palate-cleanser after our 7-part epic. (The first episode of which linked here.)

The alternate title for this was going to be “Gym Bros,” but I liked this one since it sounded saucier. In any case, I just wanted to have a spot to record some of the more notable things and people I see at the gym. (I’d imagine this’ll be a recurring feature, as there seems to be no shortage of interesting clientele.)

It’s quite a small facility, the gym is, and it’s one of the only ones available in what is a pretty artsy, residential neighborhood, meaning there’s a lot of members who go there mostly just to be seen there, or to be able to talk about the fact that they go there. This means a lot of people use it as a catwalk to peacock around and show off their new outfit or new hairdo or implants or filler, instead of actually using the equipment – for the record, this is not a gender specific complaint. (…That said, most of the ones filming themselves stretching or hanging out on the yoga mats do tend to be women.)

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As our title suggests, one curious incident that happened recently took place in the sauna (of all places).

Given that it’s a public building, and we’re not in Scandinavia or Germany or the like, I wear compression shorts (as in the spandex ones you wear as underwear during sport) as opposed to heading in there with nothing but a smile. I figure there’s only room for four guys or so - maybe five at a stretch - so it’d get a bit claustrophobic, I think, if everyone was naked. It can feel a little “close” if there’s even just one other guy in there: sometimes you go in and there’s some septuagenarian just laying ass-naked on the longer bit of the L-shaped bench - and he’s on the upper part, which is roughly eye level. So you’ve gotta either sit on the lower bench, with him behind you (and his sweat therefore dripping down onto you, like Chinese [salt]water torture), or you’ve got to sit on the smaller section of the L, which means you’ve got no choice but to look down the length of him. Obviously, nobody ever talks about any of this (i.e. the “nuts and bolts”/procedural side of things while they’re in there). That’s Rule #1.

The only exception (that I can imagine, and that I haven’t seen) would be a request that someone please cover their modesty because “This is actually a unisex sauna, sir!” or a telling-off if the nude fellow in question was doing something untoward, or something like that. Or some combination of the two.

In light of all this: you can imagine how taken aback I was when a slender, bald, middle-aged man, whom I’d seen in the gym and sauna dozens of times before, scolded me for… wearing clothes. (Not for doing anything untoward, etc.)

As soon as I got in, I could tell he was in a huff: I nodded to greet him. He didn’t nod back. After a few seconds, he broke the silence.

“You shouldn’t wear those,” he said, pointing at my shorts, “they damage the wood.”

I laughed, before realizing he wasn’t joking.

“Oh, really?” I said, “I had no idea.”

I sat up briefly, checking the bench underneath me. It looked and felt fine; its structural integrity very much intact.

“Maybe mine are okay to wear,” I said, “seems like the bench is fine.

“No. The damage just takes a while. The best way to preserve a sauna is not to bring in any sort of synthetic fabrics. If you have to bring anything, a towel to sit on is fine.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

And so we sat there, for another awkward 15 minutes or so, me confused and him looking not only disgruntled but self-righteous, as if all this arboreal/bio/synthetic chemistry stuff was common knowledge and I’d worn my stupid [prudish/American] shorts with the explicit intention of disrespecting him, and this sauna, and the establishment itself, and sauna culture at large.

That, or his ploy was some sort of attempt at flirtation.

I’d been in here hundreds of times before, as had countless other shorts-wearing guys. Did he tell off every one of us he saw?

He, anything but a hypocrite, was sitting naked on the small bit of the L. (I was on the longer side - not laying down, for the record.)

In any case, I was stuck. I couldn’t take off my shorts on the spot - can you imagine? On the off chance it was flirtation, or if he really was joking, that would have been disastrous. I’d be inviting all sorts of trouble onto myself.

On the other hand, if he was right, or at least wasn’t joking, it didn’t matter - I still wouldn’t have stripped off for him. No self-respecting man would let a male stranger guilt him into getting naked for the sake of a public sauna bench.

I also couldn’t just leave, as I’d come in after him; that would have been a sign of weakness, too.

I was sweating more from the discomfort than the 100º heat, I think. All I could do was wait, lock my gaze straight ahead and hope to god he got out before me. A high-stakes game of [rotisserie] chicken.

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Here’s a CCTV still I managed to get (by bribing one of the spin class instructors, if you must know.) The compromise was that I had to have my web team photoshop a towel on my Bald Bully:

Thankfully, he did get out first, and, just as thankfully, I haven’t seen him since. Although admittedly I still think about him often, and have come to miss him. If he doesn’t show back up soon, I’m considering taking up the mantle of Sassy Self-Righteous Sauna Stranger Shorts Scolder for myself. For now, though, my shorts stay on.

Maybe I’m waiting for another sign from god before I take the leap…

Now that I think about it, maybe I already got one. It happened soon afterwards, funnily enough.

It was a few weeks later. I’d gone straight from the sauna into one of the shower cubicles. The heat fries your brain a little bit - in a nice way, I find - and when I finished getting dressed to leave, I realized I’d left my shorts on the towel hook back in the shower. When I went to collect them, though, I saw the cubicle had already been taken by someone. He’d closed the door, and the water was on.

Shit. Oh, well, I was happy to wait. There are only two cubicles, so it’s sort of an unspoken rule that you don’t spend more than a few minutes in there. Rinse off and go.

I went back to the locker area and sat on the bench, figuring it wasn’t worth being the weirdo who disturbed a guy having a shower instead of just being patient for a couple of minutes.

So I waited a couple of minutes. Then I waited a couple more. Almost ten minutes went by, and the water was still running. I’d never seen anyone take even half this long. What were the chances? After a certain point, though, I figured I couldn’t interrupt because then he’d know that I’d been waiting and listening to his entire shower, which was even more creepy. So I had no choice but to hang in there and wait it out. Keep in mind, there is nothing provided in these showers except for shampoo, body wash, and conditioner. There’s only so much you can even get up to. (Or so you’d think?)

Finally, I heard the water stop. So I went over to the shower area to make sure nobody else got in there first. I waited at the door to the showers, trying to play it cool. But his cubicle door did not open. Through the frosted glass, I could see him touching his toes (I could also see my poor little toxin-emitting, wood-destroying shorts on the hook, just begging to be collected.) I waited thirty seconds or so. No movement.

I then went back to the bench, figuring he was just doing some last stretches before drying off: the steam helped him feel a little more flexible, so he was making the most of it. A sort of personal hot yoga routine. Whatever the case, I reassured myself that we were on the home stretch, surely.

But then the water started again.

After another minute or two, I went back over to see if someone new had snuck in without my noticing.

Nope. Unless a stranger had gone in and assumed the exact same silhouette and miraculously started their showers by doing something that looked like touching their toes for several minutes, it was the very same man. I heard faint groaning and grunting - he must have really been “feeling the burn.”

Interrupting at this point was even more out of the question. I had made my bed: [Auto]coitus interruptus was off the table. Speculation, however, was not - not that I was able to get much further than bewilderment: Was it some sort of tantric routine? Some sort of gravity enema? Unclear. Was he dead? Dying? Maybe he’d suffered some sort of brain aneurysm…?

Somewhat disappointing that our Smug Sauna Scolder wasn’t on hand to witness this impropriety - one shudders to think what he might’ve said. On second thought, there’s a good chance he’d have had no problem, since the showering man was naked. Solidarity. He was a single-issue voter: Jack wearing shorts in the sauna=bad.

Maybe the second guy was of the same school of thought, and this was his less-confrontational way of trying to separate me from my clothing.

I went back to the bench once more. Resolving not to get up again until he left the shower and came into the changing area. Finally, he did so, giving me a slightly suspicious look as he passed me, as if I was the weird one. I hurried in to check the cubicle, but the hook was empty. Mother fucker. What kind of sick fuck steals another man’s soiled underwear? As I turned to go confront this short thief/sexual deviant, I saw my shorts hanging on the other cubicle’s hook. The other ones must have been his. My sauna-fried brain must’ve forgotten which cubicle I’d used, and I was so set on rescuing my shorts I’d gotten some kind of sauna-borne tunnel vision. I got them back in the end, though. All’s well that ends well.

What will the next sign be?

Will another strange man try to separate me and my shorts?

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