Prompt #7: Getting banned for bad behavior
Lead me not into temptation.
My aura has been invariably pissed off
I got my aura picture taken in Chinatown—perhaps not at the right time, given how dire things feel pretty much every time I look at my phone lately. The woman who took my picture said I have a bright future and lightness ahead, but that I’m thinking too much, sleeping with wet hair too often, and ingesting too many cold foods. She told me to get the tension in my neck taken care of, which I didn’t, and then I promptly threw my neck out.
So, maybe it’s partially the wet hair, but I’ve been feeling disdain for my surroundings. I live in Park Slope, a very well-to-do, family-oriented neighborhood. Living here is like living in 2007: Frozen yogurt shops never left, and the economy is, by the look of things, going great.
I’ll insert all my caveats now: I live a blessed life. I belong to a food co-op of national acclaim and local infamy. I greet women in their 70s by name on the street. I walk in the park. “Bountiful but boring,” my boyfriend says of the place. This has been true for as long as I’ve lived here, but my irritation feels fresh.
Mostly, I blame the man at the YMCA who takes his shoes off.
The man who takes his shoes off at the Y
I go to the Y because it’s so close to my apartment. The problem is, I frequently rub elbows with folks who lack spatial awareness, baseline gym etiquette, and physical survival instincts. This is, I know, what I get for going to a crunchy family gym in a crunchy family neighborhood. I can’t expect rigor or athleticism, right? It’s none of my business if someone wears a dress on the treadmill or does a solo salsa routine by the cable machine. This isn’t Equinox! So I shut up, and I get my reps in.
Until I encountered a particularly sweaty man doing sweeping kettlebell exercises, followed by some light stretching, in the (very limited) functional training area. He had removed his sneakers entirely for these activities. His 'ole dogs and his beat-up ASICS stunk up the whole vicinity. He remained blithely unaware of my stone-cold gaze. I made a show of shuffling around him to get my desired dumbbells. He didn’t notice.
I saw him again the following week. Twice. Shoes off. Ass up. Hitting a stiff downward dog. What would possess someone? What wrong turns have I taken in my one precious life to be in such proximity to this degenerate?
The cost of silence
The issue is that I didn’t say anything immediately, and now I resent this man for multiple transgressions and the mental space I’ve used on him.
So, if I say something at this point, it won’t be normal. It won’t be, “Hey man, could you please put your shoes on?” I want to light an ASIC on fire and throw it from the second story (no one is harmed, of course). I want to verbally eviscerate him, and I want it to be devastating. Isn’t this always the problem with letting anger fester into fantasy?
I saw the comedian Ricky Velez do a joke one time about his friend getting banned forever from Madison Square Garden for bringing his own whistle to make calls during a game. It had me roaring. But now I find myself thinking about what I could say to Shoeless McSweaty that would get me banned forever from the YMCA, and how it might be worth it.
The Prompt
What’s an impulse you’ve had that would get you banned literally, socially, or spiritually from a space? Jot that down.
Now, play it out:
What would you throw, say, sing, yell, or do?
Is this revenge? A hot take? Wild excitement? Something silly you’ve just always wanted to try?
How would it feel to give in to the impulse?
How would you go about it?
What would you do immediately afterward?
What would be the reaction? Consequences? Standing ovation?
Have fun being bad, burn after reading, etc.
xx
Kate