When I arrive, she's normally either getting into or coming out of the shower. She sits down, covers her entire body in baby powder, then puts on a layer of moisturizer, applies about ten coats of mens deoderant, and goes back for another shower. Some days she'll go into the bathroom stall for a while, other days she'll scrub her suitcase. I watch this as I change into my workout clothes, again while I change out of them, and again while I am preparing for and getting ready after my shower. And in the hour and a half I spend at the gym, she's in the locker room the entire time. Mostly naked.
(Side story: one day I happened to choose a locker in the same row as her and caught her out of the corner of my eye while I was getting dressed standing with one foot up on the bench with her hand down in her underpants moving back and forth back and forth just working herself over. She pulls her hand out and in it was her deoderant. That's right. She was putting deo on her...there.)
Lately, she's started whistling "If I Only Had a Brain" from Wizard of Oz. Every day. Just when I have the song out of my head, it's time to go back to the gym and there she is, whistling away. I started to think she was doing it for me, since she wouldn't start whistling until I walked past her or something. She'd be merrily slathering on Speed Stick and then I walk past her to the showers and off she goes. The past few days, she's started singing words too. Except "If I Only Had a Brain" are the only words she knows, apparently, and then it's back to the whistling.
Some of the other ladies in the locker room and I started making eye contact and smirking about the whistling, rolling our eyes and whatnot. The other women in my office who go to the gym have been coming up to me and talking to me about her. Fun little nutty novelty, eh?
Today the lyrics changed. Instead of "If I Only Had a Brain" chirping out between whistles, it was "You Psycho Motherfuckers". The cute strangeness turned into the makings of a serial killer movie.
I approached the gal at the front desk as I was leaving, eyes wide as dinner plates. "The woman in the locker room?" she asks, and I told her how the tune is the same but the words are different. She explained how there have been four complaints so far this week about her, that she's been lashing out at people and taking up too much room and being generally disruptive, but this was new. I casually mentioned how I had thought for a while the woman in the locker room was homeless. "Oh, she is," the gym lady said.
Wild. I guess it's not the worst idea ever: $500 for a year for hot showers warm toilets and free cable, but everyone I've told about this so far has had a different interpretation. Two of my co-workers took the standard "oh poor thing" route. Another said that this woman who manages to get enough money to get like half a home and continue with it is already working on some level of emotional disruption, psycho songs or no psycho songs. And a third couldn't understand why she'd pick Golds out of all the gyms in the city. Why Gold's? Why not some cheaper gym?
Questions abound. I wish I could come up with a few more, but between her and Comedy Central, I've got a combination of "If I Only Had a Brain" and the damn Enzyte whistle stuck in my head.