Palmer Vs. The Locker

Yesterday afternoon was an interesting one…I finally had the time (and motivation) to head back to the swimming pool after a month’s hiatus due to final exam time as well as Christmas holidays. Perhaps inspired by James’ entry on his workout schedule, I decided to embark on a cold walk down the street where the wind was ripping through my ears like a sheet in the wind. Unfortunately, I had no access to a toque or gloves yesterday, however Vero made me realize that I should have just borrowed one for her. That is true, that probably could have formed into a ‘smart idea’.

Upon hitting up the pool, I got in, did the stretches and dunked my head in and realized what a difference the salt water filter they installed has made! Instead of a shroud of chlorine as thick as Toronto’s skyline, I could clearly see to the end of the pool. I could also see the bottom of the pool (which is five feet below the water level.) No joke, the chlorine prevented me from seeing the bottom before. Ugh. Salt-water filters are the cats meow. Sure I have a minor salt taste in my mouth, but it’s a lot better than some chlorine.

After dogging it for the 90 laps, I ended up with a few muscle cramps I had to massage out, and the regular workout took me an extra 15 minutes. Am I disappointed? Not really. I suppose I could have expected that the regular workout would take longer than usual.

So, 4:30 has hit, and it is time to leave the pool and head over to Vero’s for a bite to eat before class. I grab my towel out of the locker and hop in the shower. I hop out of the shower, head to the locker and BLAMO! It hits me.

“Hey, where’s the key to the padlock?”

Usually, (as in every time I’ve ever swam), they end up next to my goggles on the bench outside the shower. There was no one else in the shower with me, so it couldn’t have been stolen. Sadly, I realized that I must have locked them in the locker. After hauling on my wet swim trunks onto my dry body (ack!), I head outside of the washroom to the girl reading a magazine and say in French “I seem to have locked my keys in the locker. I’m sorry. Can we get it open?”

She then phones someone and asks for a ‘passe-partout’ and I think ‘What does a TV show have to do with this situation?” but then realize that this may be code word for some kind of lockpick. 😉 I go and sit in the locker room for awhile until my saviour arrives, takes a look at the lock, notices that it’s on #9 locker and heads back out to find a key.

Suspicion #1: Hey, why does he remark on the locker number when all these padlocks are just given to me from a basket on the front desk every time I go for a swim? The padlock doesn’t correspond to a locker number! I can choose any locker number I want!

Anyhow, while waiting for the guy (let’s call him Bruno for ease of use) again, a gentleman comes in, talks for awhile about where we work and whatnot and moves onto the gym. Nice guy, glad he killed some time for me. Here I am just standing there like a goof with my wet swimming trunks.

Bruno comes back with the key. Yee-ha! I can finally get out of here! Inserts the key, jiggles it, moves it to and fro…aww man, it ain’t working! Surprise Surprise Bruno! At this point, he rambles something in French to me that I literally cannot make out so I just say “Non.”. When in doubt, say no. Rule of thumb. Actually, this doesn’t apply to all cases. If you are in a bar, and someone is smiling to you while passing you a beer, say ‘yes’ if you don’t understand what they are saying.

I tell Bruno that the padlock isn’t for locker #9 as the front desk just gives me any old padlock. He says this is not the case and runs back to get another key. Good lord!

Suspicion #2: What the heck man? I’m not getting out of here anytime soon! I have to MacGyver my way out of this mess!

So I think about the fact that if I did leave the key in my locker, chances are, it’s on the bottom of the locker. So I pull on the door a little at the bottom so I can get my pinky finger inside and search the perimeter. Sadly, no sign of a key. This is odd! I poke and prod and find my schoolbag strap and yank on it thinking it may dislodge the key from its hiding place. No such luck. What the heck?! This doesn’t make sense!

Then my mind starts going over it logically. I never leave the key in there, and if I did, it would have been on the bottom of the locker. I decide to search the room once again. I have already done this but I figure it doesn’t hurt to try again. I check the shower, nope. I check the bench, no. I check the floor. No dice. I then think of the logical progression of the key falling from the bench and upon closer examination, I find the key lodged in between slats on the bench! SUCCESS!

After 30 minutes of waiting around, I manage to finally open up the locker, tell the girl at the front desk to cancel Bruno and thank him, and I’m on my way to a bitter cold night outside. Good thing my hair had enough time to dry! Perhaps this was the reason for the locker mishap!

iplaying: Crocodile Rock – Elton John (Don’t Shoot Me, I’m Only the Piano Player)