It's one of those probability things, like, "if you drop a piece of buttered toast, there's a 95% chance that it will land butter side down." When you go to the gym, no matter how many people are there, no matter how many lockers there are, there is a 95% chance you will end up right next to someone who is changing at the same time.

That happened to me today, and the neighbor in question was a very large person. Not fat. Well, actually, yes, fat. But not just fat, massive. He was strolling back from his shower as I was changing. I picked up the pace a little.

He moved in front of his locker (and mine), and continued to dry himself. And dry himself. Clearly, this was a fairly involved project. And why wouldn't it be? There was a lot to dry, some of it remote, rugged terrain. He seemed to have trouble reaching his own private Baluchistan. His breathing was a little bit labored and he was sweating. He paused to take a bump off his inhaler.

By this time I was going full throttle. I was getting claustrophobic, with this mass of pink flesh threatening to envelope me. I pulled on my shirt, forgetting to unbutton the collar. I nearly ripped off the button. I pulled on my shoes from a standing position, deciding that I was better off to risk losing my balance than to endure the certain discomfort of sitting with my head 6 inches from Baluchistan.

I jammed my stuff into my bag as though I were fleeing a fast-moving wildfire, or a volcanic eruption. (There's no time for your cell phone! Just leave it! Move! Move!) I got out of there, wondering just how many lockers, and how few gym members there would need to be to reduce the odds of close encounters.