Monday, December 27, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
This is one of the lockers at the gym I go to. And this isn't in some ghetto gym. It's a decent gym in a nice neighborhood. The New York Stock Exchange is across the street.
When the banking system was falling off a cliff a couple years ago, I would watch Maria Bartiromo report from the steps of Federal Hall while I did sit-ups and silently prayed that some desperate banker might jump out a window before my eyes. All three endeavors were disappointing in their own way. Maria Bartiromo appeared to be kind of plump in person and not what I'd expect from someone nicknamed the "Money Honey". My sit-ups did little good. No bankers were even crying, let alone jumping.
Anyway, the locker room... It looked like someone went at the lock using a wrench, got 50% of the job done, and then just gave up. I wonder how the other people in the locker room at the time responded. I think they all pretended like nothing in the least bit unusual was occurring. The same way they do when some dude bends over, dries his butt crack with exaggeratedly dramatic sweeps of his towel, and then douses himself with perfume in a disgusting ritual of personal hygiene.
The question that lingers in my mind is why did I decide to use the adjacent locker to store my belongings?