So this one time I was leaving the gym after a crushing defeat on the intramural basketball court. I fucking hate losing. I don’t care what anybody says, it’s not about fun. It’s about fucking winning. Because when you lose a game of chess or croquet or whatever it is you play there is just no way you can ever be close to that person that beat you again. He’s got it in his head that he’s better than you, and he can whip that out at anytime. You might be playing a game of FIFA later and he’ll snidely remind you of that little failure at the squash court and it brings your game down so hard.
He might play the pseudo-nobility card and pretend to be all gracious that you were such good competition. That jerk will be all, “that was really a great match, friend, but you just couldn’t quite beat me.” And he’ll say it with a British accent because it just sounds a bit more snobby. Really, listen some time to somebody who’s trying to be nice about beating you, he’s always going to have a distinct “mmmyyyyesss” quality to his voice at that particular time. I don’t like winners, and I hate being a loser. It’s a difficult paradox.
You may safely infer that I don’t lose well. You could say I slip into my grumpy pants after a loss. So I left the court alone and scowling, and went to the locker room for my post-game pee. Usually there isn’t anybody in the locker room late on a Tuesday, or really at any other time, either, but on this evening I walked past a grizzly looking middle aged man pulling up his swim trunks. Yes, I saw this man’s penis, and yes, that would make things a little weird later. When I left the stall, the man was gone but I had an overwhelming urge to swim, so I put my shoes and my shirt and my phone and my wallet and my pod in a locker and rolled on out to the pool.
I pumped out a few laps and was resting my arms on the side of the pool so I could subtlety assess arm flaccidity when the guy from the locker room walked into the pool area covered in sweat and rubbing his clearly flexing pecs. I had no idea where he had been but this guy was on top of the fucking world. His shoulders were thrown back and he was strutting along teeth flashing and just rubbing the fuck out of his chest. Dude was feeling like the shit, not caring that he was looking a little like a masturbating Wookie. (I refuse to consider that Wookies have penises or vaginas, but they might have nipples so that has to be where they masturbate.)
He popped in the pool and swam a few laps and then left again. I was just about done so I followed shortly after and that’s when I realized what had put that guy in such a good mood. Why he was feeling so great despite being covered in sweat, a state of being generally considered kind of not so great. I stepped to the glass door and tugged it open to see the sweaty man perched on the high bench of the sauna, leaning back and smiling without a care in the world. He was in swim trunks, but I sort of was reminded of seeing him naked when I walked by and may or may not have taken an impulsive glance towards the danger zone. He noticed, and gave me a look of shame so profound that I no longer care about disappointing anyone, they just could never be as upset as that dude.
