My Gym

Is disgusting.

Last week, an old man came up to me when I was on the stationary bike to let me know he recently, "Got a yeast infection off THAT VERY bike."
And this woman:

Cornered me in the locker room
(fully, completely, terrifyingly naked) (you can't tell from this picture, but she's like 90 and was wearing what seemed to be, 1940's Call Girl stage makeup)

and told me she was An Artist. 
"Oh yeah... cool... great..."
"You look like a young girl that likes art."
"Okay."
"Would you like to go with me to my car?"
"What?"
"My name is Rusty."
"I'm sure it is."
"I have a truck full of BEAUTIFUL hair clips I make because I'm an artist that I would like to show you."
"Oh... I don't wear hair clips..."
"Maybe your friends wear hair clips?"
"No... I don't... have any friends..."
"They are a reasonable price."
"No, no I think I'm fine."
"I would really like for you to come to my car to look at my artistic hair clips."
"Look, Rusty, I don't want any hair clips."

I didn't say that, but I hope sometime in my life, I get to say something as cool as that. I also could have said that not half an hour ago, I had surreptitiously taken a picture of her on the treadmill, trying to get a picture of her outfit and more specifically, the nutty hair clip she was wearing!!
It was like a rose the size of my fist with an equally large butterfly sitting on it. To the gym?

90% of me almost went with her to her car so I could take pictures of said hair clips. But then she might have told me even more about her life, and I just don't care.