Lightly Steamed With A Drizzle of Olive Oil

The emergency buzzer honks and flashes like a panicked and demented goose caught up in a string of flashing Christmas lights. Startled, everyone at the front desk jumps, looks up and Ike makes the move. It's the panic button for the Men's Steam Room. Ike's sprinting as fast as he can but we wish he'd go faster. The noise is horrible and anyway, there might be a patron in there having a heart attack.

It finally stops. Oh thank the Lord it finally stops! That alarm has to be experienced to fully comprehend just how incredibly abrasive, obnoxious and startling it can be. It doesn't take long for Ike to return to the front desk. And he looks peeved. It takes a lot for Ike to look peeved.

"Is everything alright in there?" we inquire.
"No emergency." Ike says.
"Accidentally pressed?" we ask.
"Not at all. He had a reason for pressing it." Ike replies.
"Well?"
Ike sighs. He proceeds to tell us. He got to the steam room as fast as he could, opens the door and peers into the moist, foggy haze. In there is a little man, naked, and sitting, completely relaxed. Ike asks if he's okay.
"Oh I'm fine." the man replied.
Ike asked if he was the one who pressed the emergency knob.
He admits it was him.
"What's the problem sir?"
"No problem at all. I was just summoning someone from the front desk to adjust the steam room's thermostat. It's not warm enough."
REALLY?? ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME??? Summoning us, his little minions put here to exclusively do his bidding!! At this point, my imagination would have me grab the obnoxious imbecile, drag him to the shiny red knob and bang his head against it, pointing out that the bleeding he was now experiencing from his open wound constitutes an emergency. Raising the temperature does not! Yes, you are all quite familiar with my anger issues by now.

I don't know what went through Ike's more gentle mind though, but he pointed out that the knob was for emergency purposes only. (YOU THINK??!) But knowing Ike, he was far too nice about it.

I looked at Kat, the lovely young lady who worked with us and told her to let the patron know in a polite but firm tone that he is never to do that again and if he had any trouble, then he was welcome to come and see me.

The steam rooms at our Fitness Center! There is a love hate relationship with them. The patrons love them and the staff hate them! There has been more drama, controversy and complaints centered around those two rooms than anything else in the facility. Who could imagine the contention, ruckus and embroilment two little muggy spaces would spawn. Who would imagine the quirky, bizarre patrons we would encounter.


There is a retired Colonel we call Colonel Grapefruit. He loves the steam room. Very much so. During the room's daily morning clean, Colonel Grapefruit would walk in naked except for a tiny towel around his middle and hover less than a foot away at the unfortunate staff person who is inevitably on his knees, scrubbing. Colonel Grapefruit will always pleasantly ask when the steam was coming back on. So, you ask, what's so bad about that? Well he wasn't called Colonel Grapefruit for nothing. The poor person cleaning is usually at eye level with the Colonel's um, how can I put this delicately.... "twin boys" which are playing peek-a-boo from under the minute towel. And they are, I have been assured, the size of the above named fruit. Cleaning time has been changed several times to avoid the Colonel and his wares, but it seems the good Colonel has no fixed time except mid morning and more often than not, he is there with his dainty towel, jovial attitude and his capacious man-parts proudly dangling away.

The ladies on staff don't have it any easier.

When I first started working here and was a lowly but happy towel folder, I cleaned the ladies steam room. I enjoyed the task as it was my quiet time and I was left to myself. Most of the time. One day I found some green, slimy strips scattered around the room. I couldn't make out what they were. Then one morning, I happened to be in the locker room when this woman breezes by with two bowls and a bag, heading for the steam room. Curious, I took a quick peak at the bowls. One was empty and the other had seaweed strips in it. Seaweed? DING!!! LIGHT BULB moment!! My mind is flashing just like the Christmas goose emergency buzzer at the front desk. Only without the sound (Oh, thank the Lord!!!).

"Ma'am!" I say. "Are you going into the steam room?"
"Yes, dear."
"Ma'am, you can't take your seaweed in there."
"Why not?" she asks.
I read and pointed to our Spa Regulations, posted on the door of the steam room. Reg #4: Personal grooming is prohibited. This includes but is not limited to shaving, hair removing creams, ointments and oils for any purpose.
"This is seaweed. It isn't an oil." she countered.
"It's for personal grooming." I said firmly. I was on shaky ground, but I had to try. I had no clue what she used the seaweed for, but whatever it was, it was clogging up our drains.
"Well, I do massage my body with it." she admitted (HUH?? Personally, I'd prefer to eat the stuff with some raw fish, but to each their own.)
"I'm sorry Ma'am. No seaweed."
She mumbled something about me being unreasonable but shuffled back to the locker room to put her goodies away.

We've also had the occasion where complaints were made about ladies deciding to get intimate with each other. I can only imagine how disconcerting witnessing that can be!

Jamie had a moment where she responded to the Christmas goose emergency buzzer. It turned out to be a woman, stark naked, rubbing herself with olive oil with one hand and pushing the emergency knob with the other. Jamie asked if she was alright and she looked at Jamie like she was half witted.
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just trying to raise the temperature with this button." (Who's the half wit now??)
Jamie, with the patience of a saint, explained what the big, red knob was actually for and then addressed the olive oil situation. The lady was not pleased. Tough, babe! We are not The Rachel Ray Show where you are the steamed meat being basted with extra virgin olive oil! Trust me lady, all the olive oil in the world, extra virgin or otherwise, is not going to turn your mutton into tender lamb!!!

No "Tale of The Sweltering Saunas" would be complete without a mention of the rather plump, young marine who tore off our Under Repairs sign and turned on the steam. I asked her if she realized the sign said Under Repairs. Bless her heart. She rudely and dismissively told me that of course she saw it. But too bad because she had to and was going to use it anyway. It turns out she was 5 pounds overweight for bi-annual weigh-in which was taking place in 2 hours. I'm afraid I wasn't very gracious. I rather condescendingly told her that it was just a steam room and not a miracle chamber and she should have thought about her weight issues 6 months ago. I then told her that if she tried to turn the steam room again, I was going to call security.

In all honesty, none of us on staff would weep one bit if those moist, muggy chambers were to be taken away and turned into something else (more lockers come to mind). However, the patrons enjoy it, especially after a hard workout. It provides relief from muscle tension and stiff joints, supposedly improves blood circulation and aids lymph detoxification. And, no matter responsible or inconsiderate, it is there for the benefit of the patron, as is the rest of the facility.

So, bring on the boors and the weirdos. They make for an interesting tale. But more importantly, they are the meat and material for my future bestseller!

You will get a copy of it won't you?

The Fence: Part 1

"What do you think they're doing?", I asked my neighbor as both of us stood in our back gardens. She was looking over her 4 foot fence and I was standing on my unfenced property.

We were looking at the property behind us. The woods that once was; thick, lush, beautiful. Alas, that is no longer the case. About a month or so ago, the owner of the woods came through and decided he was going to clear part of it and build himself a home there. He then proceeded to mow down about a 10 foot clearing between our properties and put up some massive fence posts. Beyond the posts he left about 5 to 6 feet of trees and then a big clearing where he will build whatever he intends to build.

"Don't really know." said my neighbor. We started speculating. Some of the other neighbors think it might be cattle. That is unlikely as we are zoned as residential. But whatever it is he's doing, it's certainly not adding to the beauty of what it once was. My neighbor and I made the usual tut tut noises about what the world was coming to that people could rip away nature with so little thought and then we left it.



Over the next week or so, we watched sadly as more trees were mowed down. Then one Sunday morning, I look out and saw a new fence. My neighbor's 4 foot fence was now a 6 foot fence. Curious, I went and asked why. "We're not comfortable with strangers and workers being able to see us in our pool." she said. "Plus you now have people walking their dogs back there. So much more traffic since he cleared that path."

She was right. Random people were now using that path to walk their dogs through the woods. I love dogs, but I do not love their owners, especially when they leave little presents on my property for me to clear up. This was getting ridiculous. And the thought of the workers back there and neither Mr. Madbrit nor I home during the day when the construction work begins: all this was rather worrying.

So I broached the subject with Mr. Madbrit. "Honey, I know we said we would never put up a fence, but I've changed my mind." The Hubby was not as sold as I was on the idea. We talked about cost for materials, labor and priced it. He was right about it being ridiculously high. The material itself was reasonable. The labor on the other hand... But I've worked myself into a frenzy by now. I've convinced myself that we will have every irresponsible dog owner let Little Woof Woof use my garden as it's "dumping ground". The construction workers will be using our property for their lunch and potty breaks and since neither of us are home during the day, the house will be pretty vulnerable. No, I wasn't liking this at all.

"I'll ask around for recommendations for fencers", I told Mr. Madbrit. Someone at work will know of someone. With that thought, the next day, I went to work and asked the first person I saw, my boss Jay.

"Why do you want to put up a fence?" he asked. I told him the situation. "Do it yourself. Far far cheaper." he says. I shook my head. Neither myself nor Mr. Madbrit would ever be mistaken for Bob the Builder. I told Jay this. But by now, Jay had that gleam in his eye. An idea was forming in his head and I could see him churning thoughts through his mind. I began to get a little worried. He predictably ignored what I said.

"How big is your property?" he asked. I told him. "Let's go and see it now.". And the next thing I know, I'm driving Jay back to the house and he's trampling through the woods hmming and hawing at what he sees. He's not pleased. He's disgusted for us. "We'll get the fence up. You, me, Mr. Madbrit. It can be done in a day or so." he says with full conviction. "You can't be living with all that stuff going on behind you. You'll need your privacy."

Okay, wait a minute now. Didn't I just tell you that we were not handy with tools?? Jay waves the protest away. He's a man on a mission now. He's already taken mental measurements and started hammering the posts into the ground. Jay is like a rip tide. There's no point fighting it. Just best to go along with it until you're released. So we head back to work, I give him the measurements and he gives me what I will need to get for the material. I then call Mr. Madbrit and break the news to him. Bless him, he knows better than to fight this one. We agree that although we won't enjoy the work, it was a necessary evil and the money saved would be substantial. Plus, by all accounts, whatever we do, the workmanship will be far superior to what we'll get with a hired crew.

And so it stands, this week, hopefully we'll be able to get some material ordered. Have the stuff delivered by next week and the following weekend or the one after, we'll roll up our sleeves and go for it. And when we're done, we'll have the best fence money can buy and the sense of achievement will be gratifying.

If I keep telling this to myself often enough, I'll actually believe it.