Sauna-Time Softness

The other day, like I do most weekdays, I went and entered the sauna at Gold’s Gym to decompress and sweat a bit after my workout. 

As I was walking in, another guy—a nice enough guy I don’t really know well, but exchange pleasantries with during our sweats as we’re often at the gym at the same time—was exiting, so I said a quick “how are you?” to him and then took my seat inside. There were two other gentlemen there. One was an older guy, probably around my dad’s age, whom I had encountered before and who loves talking at, rather than with, anyone around him. The other, I’d never seen, but was maybe my age or a bit older, and had the energy and look of someone who likes to tell people he grew up in New York. 

“I think we scared him off,” the older guy said to me when I sat down. 

“Oh yeah?” I said, hoping—but already knowing from prior experiences that it was in vain—that would be noncommittal enough to prevent further conversation. 

“We were making fun of him for being soft,” the younger guy said. 

“It was all in good fun,” the older guy assured me. “He and I are pals.” 

“He’s a vegetarian,” the younger guy said. “Told us he was down in Savannah but didn’t go to any BBQ spots.” 

“The best BBQ in the south is in Savannah,” the older guy said. I’ve literally never heard that. 

“You a BBQ guy?” The younger guy asked me. In hindsight, I kind of wish I lied and told him I was also a vegetarian.

“I like it well enough,” I said, truthfully (I like BBQ, but I’m a sauce guy—I don’t particularly care how authentically smoked or tender the meat is if the sauce isn’t blowing me away; I also think there’s a lot of mediocre BBQ, but that’s a rant for another day). “But I’ve been to Savannah a handful of times and never had BBQ there. I always thought it was more of a seafood town.” 

“I’ve got a shellfish allergy,” the older man said. Now, this is not my belief, but a certain type of man could certainly make the argument that a shellfish allergy—hell, that any allergy, really—is…soft. 

“How does not eating meat make one soft?” I asked. 

“You know,” the younger guy said, “it’s just kind of like…ya know, men eat meat.”

“Interesting,” was all I said back, reversing course and deciding I really didn’t want to engage any further. 

“We’re all buddies,” the older guy said. “We were just giving him some hassle.”

“He’s a cool cat.” The younger guy said. “But a big softie.” That made them both hoot and holler a bit. 

Since I didn’t feel like engaging any further, I didn’t point out how the soft vegetarian looked like he lived in the gym, and that these guys, well…they looked like they spend most of their time in the sauna. 

We didn’t talk any further, but the younger guy and I ended up walking out of the gym at the same time and parked near each other. 

He drove a Jeep (I know, shocker)—one of those Jeeps whose dashboards are filled to the brim with…rubber duckies. Now, I don’t know about you, but I feel like adults who collect toys could be considered, well…let’s just end with if it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, and collects baby ducks…