Figaro

When I lived in San Francisco, one of my coworkers told me that one day, after living in SF for about 8 years, she was walking down the street and a girl wearing no pants walked past her.  And she barely noticed. That, she said, was the moment she realized it was time for her to move.

I feel like the YMCA has a number of proverbial pantless pedestrians wandering its hallways.

There is one older/middle-aged woman who was obviously a singer in a previous life and likes to sing opera, loudly, in the locker room.  Full volume loudly.  And apparently we’re on the same workout schedule, because she is there more often than not.

At first it was awkward, I wasn’t sure how to react…when she makes eye contact with you do you smile like a normal person and pretend like she’s not doing that or what?  Now it’s like, whatever…preferable to the usual locker room rants about how the 84 degree pool water is too cold.

So when I was greeted by La Traviata after my swim this morning, I ignored.  Per usual.  But this time, someone taking a shower decided she needed accompanyment.  When Singer #2, another silver-haired vocalist, emerged from the shower, Singer #1, at this point fully dressed and about to walk out the front door, approached a totally naked Singer #2. They clearly did not know each other.  The following conversation ensued, naked, next to me as I got ready for work:

“Well, thank you for the beautiful harmony today.”

“Oh yes, well, I just recognized the hymn, and you know the alto part goes, ‘hum HUM HUM hum hum…”

“Ah yes that’s different than the mezzo-alto part that we normally sing in church. I heard you singing something else, what was that?”

“Oh, that was At the Cross…you know, ‘at the cross, at the cross, where I first saw the light…” 

“…’and the burden of my heart rolled awaaaAAAAaaaaAAAAAY!'”

…and there was my cue.  Exit scene.