The Idea of Entitlement as Applied to Old Age and the Gym

There are a lot of less-than-interesting things about getting older. I know. I have grandparents who love to discuss their maladies. Through them as well as some of the other elderly types I've come across, I've noticed that there are also some interesting things about growing old. Wisdom, contentment, sense of accomplishment are all some of the positive vibes an elderly person can radiate. What I find interesting about getting old is the idea of entitlement as it relates to time served on earth. I see it in every interaction. When you're old you feel entitled. You think simply because you are old that you are entitled to certain things in life. Health care. Social Security. Discounts at movie theaters. Quick service at your local diner. Patience from the frustrated drivers pushing Cadillac sedans towards speed limits all across the country. These are just the tip of the entitlement iceberg. The bottom line about getting old is that if you are old, you're lucky to be old even though you don't feel lucky because you are old. Therefore, when dealing with an old person hop-to-it, because they don’t have the time to be fucking around with anything other then the next thing on their to-do list. After all, they have their pills to take.

Don't get me wrong, I think they deserve every bit of it. I guarantee that if I'm lucky enough to get old, I'll be waving my entitlement wand as feverishly as the best of those that came, and went, before me. I'm sure I don't completely understand the physical, mental and emotional changes and challenges that each and every old-fart faces. However, I stand here in my thirties making a bold entitlement claim. I will never ever become that guy who feels he's entitled to walk around the gym with his sixty year old nuts flip-flopping around for all to see. I fully understand that when you’ve reached a certain age there isn’t any more embarrassment because you’ve been everywhere and done it all. Still, I’ve learned so much from the older generation that I think it’s time to give back. Dear old-men everywhere, when in a gym don’t fear the towel. Embrace your underwear. Hide your balls.

I first discovered old-man-naked-entitlement as a fourteen year old in the locker room at the YMCA. I nearly sat down on the naked chair before some other gym-going teenager rescued me. "That's the fucking naked old-man chair. That seat has handled more balls than a quarterback." That was the warning. The lesson came about thirty seconds later in the form of an old timer. Hairy as hell and naked as a jay bird, he rested his old-man ass on the old-man seat and sat there splay-legged flashing his old-man nuts like they were on the Carnegie Hall marquee. My god! Like being caught by an unexpected camera flash, I could only see the negative image of a pair of nuts blinding me for minutes. From then on, I avoided that chair like a thief ducking a surveillance camera. I also never looked anywhere below the ceiling. If I did: old-man-nuts.

That was twenty years ago, but the more things change, the more they stay the same. Every night at the gym is old-man-entitlement-hour. There is a nightly celebration of nuts and gruesome ass. Fucking peripheral vision. Not a help. Old-man-ass is like a fully squeezed tube of toothpaste. Sadly, the gruesome ass is infinitely more palatable than the two prunes jiggling mid-thigh two lockers down.

That's a sweet pair of balls you got on you sir. Those things look like they've done some work. Some creatin’. Could you lift those things up? Let me check out the undercarriage. See how you're holding up.

That may seem ridiculous, but it's what I think is running through the Mr. Naked-Entitlement roaming my gym. Opening the shower door is like ripping back the shower curtain at the Bates Motel. Only, instead of being hacked to death with a knife, you're getting stared down by an eighty year-old one-eyed monster. Not fun.

Eye level. That's the worst. If things continue down this road I'm going to start changing while standing on the benches. Every time I sit down it's like Russian Roulette. You don't need a bullet in the head. A pair man-nuts eye level is just as life-altering.

Wow. Great circumference. You still have those things, huh? I thought that by your age they sort of fell off like acorns.

I don’t know what it is about a naked man with his junk dangling like a worn out pair of sneakers from an electrical wire, but if there’s even the remotest opportunity for a conversation, he’s taking it. Go ahead, lean or look away. Cower if you want to. It won’t matter. Naked old men in the gym can’t read body language. If they could they’d have a fig leaf to cover that ball-park frank they love to twiddle while engaging you in some light banter about the delicious tuna sandwich they had for lunch.

No seriously. Don’t shower. Don’t get changed. It’s much more comfortable for all involved when you mill around aimlessly. Stand at your locker. Bend over if you could. There’s nothing more awe inspiring than the rear view of a ball-bag that’s been battling wear and tear for six or seven decades.

I’m not sure if Murphy’s Law has a nut clause, but it should. Why is it that the very person who should be naked for the shortest amount of time is always the person who is naked for the longest amount of time? Why is he always holding a towel rather than mercifully putting it to use. Why is it that a man who loves to parade around forever naked needs to wear a pair of flip flops? And why is he always at the locker directly next to mine?

I look forward the day when I’m commendably still grinding it out at the gym earning the admiration of all my peers. I look forward to the day when there is nothing left to register on my embarrassment meter. I look forward to the day when I’ve done so much in life that I could care less about who sees what and what it looks like. I hope I last long enough to earn some of this entitlement. But rest assured, even when the day comes that I’m entitled to endlessly display my old-man-nuts to all the world, I won’t. Just because you earn a buck, doesn’t mean you have to spend it.