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Laundry Soap Opera - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
captainsblog
captainsblog
Laundry Soap Opera

One of the longtime signature features of the multi-location gym I belong to here is perhaps the most symbolic of its own dysfunction: the red towel.  They're about the size of a sheet of copy paper, and are folded and piled at perhaps a dozen locations throughout the gym's floor.  I typically use two per workout: one to destinkify myself during, then one to destinkify the equipment after.

The front desk staff clearly hates these things with the heat of a thousand suns. In a typical hour on the elliptical, I'll see the whole gang of them folding, then redistributing, the red towels to the dozen stands.  It's a cross between Sisyphus and the Ivory Snow baby, and I can understand why they've recently made a concerted effort to phase them out.

I also understand why the concerted effort was fully made of fail.

Two Sundays ago, the hampers for these critters disappeared, and the piles of clean ones were gone. I asked, and was told, oh, we're phasing them out. Mine, it turned out, was one I'd accidentally taken home with me- and washed- and I then determined to hang on to that sucker, come hell or high washwater.

A day later, the gang was back at the front desk, folding and stewing, and the hampers were all back.

Next came the obligatory Cute Sign: BEAR WITH US (picture of a panda) as we switch over to paper towels.

I responded, of course, as any other reasonable person would: I bagged both of that day's red towels, so now I had a stash of three.

By the end of last week, the hampers were again gone, and paper rolls now filled the dozen spots.  The panda had won!

Or maybe not.... because the largely-female contingent of the front desk clearly hadn't spent nearly enough time in the Eternal Pit of Despair that is the men's locker room.  By the beginning of this week, the twelve "towel stations," and the steps around the ones in the cardio area, were overflowing with balled-up piles of brown, which the dudes continued to toss on the floor the way they always used to toss their red towels on the floor. 

Hint from a klutz who knows: red towels on the floor cause fewer personal injuries than paper towels on the floor.

Someone else must've gotten that memo, because by last night (when I went in, in a lull in my 14-hour day from hell, mainly to change out of work clothes), the rolls were gone, the gang of red-towel-folders was back to glowering, and the panda, presumably, was on the menu at the Wok and Roll Chinese place next door.

But I'll still remember the panda, because an hour after I go in, I'll be sweaty again.



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